


Identity Theft

by Rizandace



Series: Magic Curses [5]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Amnesia fic, F/F, Happy Endings For All, M/M, Multi, Some light angst, also some sex happens, and hurt/comfort, and pining... OH THE PINING, but with a twist, i thought it was going to be a oneshot and now it's by far the longest in the series oooops, this thing got away from me in a big big way, with several twists actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-24 09:34:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20356294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rizandace/pseuds/Rizandace
Summary: "Um, Marina," Brown-Eyes said. He sounded so polite. It was endearing. "Can you tell us who the hell we are? Give us something to go off of here? None of us are carrying ID or anything."Marina gave a dramatic, heaving sigh, looking up to the ceiling as if asking for strength. "Okay, this is gonna be low-key humiliating for me, because I mostly pretend I don't care enough about you chuckle-fucks to remember your names, but, I can see how the situation might get confusing if we let you all go around without knowing. So."------------------------------------A man wakes up in a warehouse with six strangers, and no idea who he is. He takes one look at the floppy-haired, brown-eyed man next to him, and falls in love.





	1. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I feel like I could write a whole essay on how excited I am to share this story with you guys. Honestly, I've lost perspective on whether or not this is particularly good, since I've been staring at it nonstop for the past week. But I will tell you this: I don't think I've ever had more fun writing anything in my whole life.
> 
> Like the stories preceding it, this can probably be understood just fine without having read the prior works, but here are the basics just in case:
> 
> This is post S-4, and does not contradict canon except that QUENTIN DID NOT DIE. From there, he and Eliot have gotten back together, going through a considerable amount of creative and evil trauma along the way, and finally getting married.
> 
> Quentin and Eliot live in Fillory. As do Margo, Fen, and Josh, the three of whom are in a relationship. Back on Earth, Kady is still working with the Hedges, and Alice and Julia are a couple.
> 
> That should be just about enough context to get you going, although of course I'd encourage you to go back and read the other stories should you feel so inclined! Okay, enough stalling... I hope you enjoy!

The first thing the man noticed as he came to consciousness was that his head was _pounding_. It felt like the worst hangover he'd ever had, times about a million, and for several seconds all he could do was lay there and gasp and wait for his eyes to adjust. He appeared to be in a semi-dark room of some sort. It was large, with a cavernous ceiling above him, and the air was drafty. Like a garage maybe, bigger even - a warehouse?

The second thing he noticed was that he wasn't alone in the room. There were shapes all around him, rustling and making confused, pained sounds. After a few moments of this, there was a _whoosh_ of energy and an orb of light floated above his head, illuminating the space in a soft glow. Someone in the room had cast a simple light spell. He looked around and sat up slowly, trying not to jostle his still pounding head. His next observation was that pretty much everyone in the room with him was kind of stupidly attractive.

The caster of the spell was a petite blonde lady wearing glasses. Or, he should say, _formerly_ petite, because could you really describe someone in their third trimester of pregnancy _petite_? She was hot, though, in a sexy librarian kind of way, and pregnancy suited her. Next to her was a girl with a riotous amount of dark, curly hair, and dark eye makeup. Her eyebrows were pulled down in what he thought must be a permanent scowl. She looked like the kind of person who would tie you up and make you thank her for it. Big top energy.

Although not as top-y as the woman who was currently rubbing a hand over her forehead to his immediate left. She was tiny, with perfectly applied makeup on her one visible eye, the other being covered by an ornate eye-patch with gold and red patterns swirling through a black backdrop. And she was dressed in a somewhat impractical looking skirt and tight-fitted blouse, with colors to match the eye-patch. She was pulling it off with aplomb. He knew, on some primal, instinctual level, that she was not the kind of person you wanted to fuck with. Just the sight of her made him smile for some reason.

There was one final woman in the room. She was also dressed nicely, in a flowery patterned dress. She had bright, wide doe-eyes and light hair pulled back into a braid, and all he could think was that she looked like the naively sexy farmer's daughter in every poorly written Harlequin novel. He'd used to read those when he was a teenager, the man thought.

In between eye-patch lady and farmer's daughter was perhaps the only exception to the 'everyone in this room can get it' rule. He wasn't unattractive by any stretch of the imagination. Just a little doughy, the kind of average that might make a person forget he was even in the room. He was groaning and squinting his eyes against the light. "Dude, what the fuck?" he said, looking around at the rest of them.

"Um," another voice said, to the man's right. "Does anyone know where we are?"

The man spun around to look at the last member of the group, and his heart thudded hard in his chest. Honestly, this guy may have been the hottest one there. Maybe not in an obvious sort of way, like Ms. Eye-Patch, but still. He was floppy haired and short, with broad shoulders and lean muscles under a charcoal-grey long-sleeved t-shirt. He had wide, chocolate-brown eyes. Very pretty eyes, even with the scrunch of worry between them. The man wanted to touch him. He felt a startling urgency about it - just, to lean over and put a hand in that hair, rub a thumb along that broad bottom lip. He felt pulled to it, like he was meant to be connected to this brown-eyed pretty, pretty man. It was more than a physical attraction, it was some sort of primal instinct, it was -

"I don't know," the curly-haired scowling woman said to adorable Brown-Eyes. "I don't know where - I don't know _who_ I am. Does anyone..."

And it was then that the man had the third realization. Maybe it should have occurred to him earlier. Maybe it was weird that he was lusting after a stranger instead of focusing on the most important detail of this whole frightening scenario - that being the simple, unnerving fact that the man didn't know his own name.

* * *

"Okay," Glasses said, tapping a nervous hand on her pregnant belly. "Okay, so, just to be clear, none of you can remember who you are?"

There was a general consensus, but then Curly-Hair frowned at Glasses. "Or at least you're all letting me _think_ you don't remember."

Eye-Patch pointed a finger at her, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Or maybe _you're_ letting _us_ think that you don't know - "

"Okay," Farmer's Daughter put it, with a surprising amount of authority in her voice. "Okay, we could do this all day. Maybe we could agree to start with the assumption that we're all in the same scary, weird, position, and move from there."

They'd all scoured their pockets for ID, and found nothing. Curly-Hair had a nondescript house-key in her jacket pocket, and a few of them had other ephemera, some money, a tube of chap-stick - but absolutely no useful identifying information.

"The doors are locked," the man announced, from where he was standing in the corner of the room. "It looks like there's a hangar door on the other side, does someone want to see if that will open?"

Brown-Eyes nodded at him, smiling, and the man's heart did a somersault. Brown-Eyes walked over to the other side of the room and pushed on a big red button. No result. "Nothing," he said, shrugging apologetically at the rest of the group. "Looks like we're stuck."

"But we're Magicians," Glasses said. "Or, at least, I am."

"Oh yeah," Other Guy said. "Oh yeah, me too."

"And me," Eye-Patch added.

"I don't think I know how to do magic," Farmer's Daughter said. "Although maybe if I can, I just don't remember?"

The man moved his hands in a familiar, instinctual pattern, and a folding chair leaning against the wall near him started to float off the ground. He fiddled with it in mid-air using only his mind, in an action as easy as breathing, and the chair unfolded itself, spun a few unnecessary times in the air, and settled down on the cement flooring with gentle, precise, thud. The man sat on the chair, affecting nonchalance, and felt the eyes of the rest of the room on him.

"Nice," Eye-Patch said, giving him a wicked grin. "A showman, I see."

"Apparently."

"Okay, so we're all Magicians," Glasses said. She sounded like a school-teacher. Maybe she was? The man wondered. Or maybe she really was a librarian. "That being the case, maybe we could come up with some other things we remember - or know - about ourselves."

"I'm married," Brown-Eyes said as he walked back to join the rest of the group. The man noted with warmth that Brown-Eyes had come instinctively to stand next to him. The man pulled a set of folding chairs out from the corner of the room with only his mind, and repeated his magical flourish, until the seven of them were all seated in a loose circle.

"You're married?" Curly-Hair said, as they all settled into their chairs. "You remember that?"

"No," Brown-Eyes said, holding up his left hand and wagging it. I'm wearing a ring. He turned to look at the man. "And so are you."

"Me too," Glasses said.

"And me," the Other Guy and Farmer's Wife said together.

"Holy cock," Eye-Patch said. "Me too. I didn't think I was the kind of person to settle down."

"How would you know that?" Curly-Hair said. She looked down at her own hand. "I guess I'm the only single person here..."

"Do you think..." Brown-Eyes shot a nervous look over at the man and then away, towards the opposite side of the circle where Farmer's Daughter and Glasses were sitting. "Uh. Do you think we're like... married to _each other_?"

"How would we know who matches up with who?" Glasses said, squinting. "No offense, but if my husband's in this room I don't think it's any of you."

The man laughed at that, picturing himself married to a woman, with a baby on the way. If he was married to anyone in this room, he hoped it was... but no. That was stupid. And irrelevant, and not the point. He opened his mouth to move the conversation along, but Farmer's Daughter spoke first.

"Or your wife," she pointed out, gesturing to Glasses. "You could be married to a woman."

This gave Glasses pause, and she thought about it for a second, biting her lip. "Yes," she finally said. "Or my wife. I don't think she's here."

"You think you'd be able to tell?" Brown-Eyes asked. Was it just wishful thinking, or did he sound a touch unbalanced? The man risked a glance to the chair next to him and found Brown-Eyes staring at him. They held eye-contact for a moment, and then Brown-Eyes blinked, actually blushing, and turned away.

Oh, _Christ_. The man wanted to bite him. Was that weird?

"Okay, so marital status. We've got that down. Anyone else remember anything else about themselves?" Glasses asked. The group seemed to be deferring to her as something of a natural leader. Or maybe it was just that everything about her screamed _pragmatism_, and there was something comforting about trying to logic their way through this puzzle.

"I'm gay," the man announced. "I don't remember my own name, but I've got that much locked down."

That actually caused a titter of laughter around the room, and a round-about of sexuality announcements were promptly shared. The man's heart did an embarrassing tap-dance when Brown-Eyes said he was bi.

"And we all know English," Brown-Eyes helpfully pointed out. "And we know enough about sexuality to know the terms for stuff. And we know about magic. And - And I think I have clinical depression?" he trailed off, frowning a bit as if trying to force himself to remember something. "I think I take medication for it."

A spike of worry hit the man in the chest. If they were trapped in here, and if Brown-Eyes needed his meds... or what if one of them was fucking diabetic or something, and they were in here with no way of getting what they needed? They might not even know until it was too late.

"I'm pregnant," Glasses announced, which caused another round of nervous laughter. "I know that."

"I think I'm nobility?" Eye-Patch said. It came out like a question, but there was an underlying authority to it that made the man believe her for some reason. "Somehow? Does that make any sense?"

"We're all American, or at least we're all speaking with American accents," Brown-Eyes said. "So that seems - "

"I'm Fillorian," Farmer's Daughter announced. "Definitely not American."

"Fillorian?" Brown-Eyes said. "Like - _Fillory and Further_?"

"I love those books!" Eye-Patch said, and then paused, her face twisting into confusion. "At least - I think I do."

"Fillory is a real place," Farmer's Daughter said.

"Oh _yeah_," Other Guy said. "I think I live there. How trippy is that?"

Brown-Eyes looked rapturous. "_Fillory and Further_," he repeated. "How can I remember my favorite books but not my own name?"

"I don't know," the man said. "But... Fillory is familiar to me too. Not the books, the... the place. Yeah, I remember that. Or. Something. I don't know."

Glasses shook her head, her stick-straight blonde hair falling in a curtain in front of her face. "Okay, so... Fillory. Nobility. Um. Anything else?"

For a moment there was an awkward silence, as the group of strangers looked around the room at each other. The man looked over at Brown-Eyes, over to Eye-Patch, across to Glasses and Farmer's Daughter and Other Guy. His eyes met Curly-Hair, who looked back at him with an odd expression, maybe of distrust, maybe just fear. He didn't know what he knew, but he knew_ something_. How the hell was he going to articulate it to them?

There was a small throat-clear from beside him, and he turned to see Brown-Eyes biting down adorably on his lip. "Um. I don't know if this counts, but there is one other thing I know." He looked around at the group much as the man was just doing, meeting everyone's eyes in turn. He ended on the man, and held his gaze as he spoke again. "I don't know why, but... I know that I can trust you all."

* * *

The first thing they ascertained is that they couldn't open either of the doors. The smaller door appeared to be simply locked, but it wouldn't budge under any spell any of them could think of. They tried the warehouse garage door as well, anxious for more information than the abandoned and nearly empty space could provide. Brute force and magic were both useless, even when they tried cooperative spells.

And there wasn't much to find out in the cavernous warehouse itself. It was nearly empty, excepting the folding chairs that the man had found leaning up against one wall, a bucket with some brooms and a mop sticking out of it, and some mats and blankets that looked like they'd never been used, some of them still wrapped in plastic.

"It looks like someone was maybe planing to stay here," Curly-Hair said, pulling a flat of dusty water bottles out from under a tarp.

"They didn't do a very good job of provisioning it, though," Glasses said. She was sitting in one of the chairs, with her feet up on another one. She had circles under her eyes and she looked tired. The man felt a pang of worry for her. It couldn't be good for her to be this stressed and scared, in her condition.

"And who wants to live in a warehouse anyway?" Other Guy asked.

"This is getting us _nowhere_," Curly-Hair said, growling out the words in frustration. The man understood the feeling. There was something a little too horror-movie about this whole scenario. He kept thinking that eventually they were going to figure out that one of the seven of them was a plant, was the cause of their memory loss. But to what end? Who were they? Who would want to trap them like this, and if they _were_ being held hostage, where were their captors?

"New plan," Glasses said, her voice rough with stress. "We don't keep poking around this empty goddamn warehouse for no reason. Instead we... we talk to each other."

Eye-Patch raised an eyebrow. "_Talk_ to each other," she repeated, her lip quirking up. "What the hell for?"

But it was Brown-Eyes who answered, turning to Glasses with a smile. The man's heart fluttered at the sight of that gentle expression on his face. "Because so far, that's the only thing that's worked."

"I don't get it," Other Guy said, but Glasses was smiling back at Brown-Eyes and nodding gratefully.

"Exactly. Think about it - none of us remember who we are, but through talking to each other, we've discovered so much already. We know about Fillory, both the place and the books. We know who's married and who's not, we know that we all know each other."

"We _think_ we know all of that stuff," Curly-Hair interjected. "But your point is taken. If we can just keep talking about ourselves, about each other, maybe we'll figure something out."

Which was how, like they were a class of school children breaking into study groups to discuss the class reading, they'd ended up pairing off. Farmer's Daughter and Eye-Patch had immediately made themselves comfortable in one corner of the larger room, while Curly-Hair, Glasses, and Other Guy made a grouping of three. Which meant, to the man's delight, that he had ended up sitting across from Brown-Eyes.

And then, less delightfully, he found himself at a loss for what to say.

"Um. So." Brilliant fucking start.

Brown-Eyes smiled at him, a genuine expression, with just a hint of mockery in his eyes. "Um, so," he echoed. "How are you?"

For whatever reason, this made the man laugh. "How am I?"

"Oh, shut up, I don't know," Brown-Eyes said, a gorgeous pink coloring his cheeks. "This is so fucking weird. Is it just me, or is this like a nightmarish blind date?"

"Well, ouch," the man said. "I for one would be _delighted_ to find myself set up on a blind date with someone who looked like you."

Brown-Eyes blinked at him, going very still, and the man felt his stomach twist into a knot. Why had he said that? This was supposed to be an _information gathering session_. And that hadn't even been a good line. Jesus, and he was normally so smooth.

Or. He thought he was. He couldn't remember, obviously.

"Have you ever _been _on a blind date?" Brown-Eyes asked him.

"Yes," the man said, immediately. "With a woman, I think. I can't remember the specifics. I think I was..." he had the uncomfortable feeling that he'd been closeted, that the date had been part of maintaining his cover, but he couldn't remember where he'd been, or why he'd felt the need to do that. He shook his head to clear it, and looked back at Brown-Eyes, who had a small frown on his face that the man could only describe as _compassionate_. "What about you? Any awkward blind date stories spring to mind?"

"No, nothing," Brown-Eyes said. "Where are you from?"

"No idea. You?"

Brown-Eyes shook his head. "Siblings?" he asked.

"Umm... yes. I think. I don't think I speak to them."

"I'm almost positive I'm an only child," Brown-Eyes said. "Of course, I don't know how any of this is supposed to be helpful to us." He frowned again, scrubbing a hand through his hair in frustration. When he dropped his hand, a strand of his hair fell forward in front of his eyes, and the man felt his hand twitch with the urge to reach up and smooth it back for him.

"Hey," he said instead, pitching his voice low. "It's the best we've got. Maybe we'll unearth something helpful by accident."

Brown-Eyes looked unconvinced, so the man put on an air of forced calm and kept going. "Where'd you learn magic?"

"Um... school? I think?" Brown-Eyes said. "You?"

"Yeah, that sounds right. Do you think that's where we met?"

Brown-Eyes gave a little start, sitting up straighter in his chair. "You think we know each other?"

The man's blood was thrumming in his ears, and his skin grew warm. He blinked a few times. "Um. I don't know for _sure_, obviously. But you said - what you said about trusting - "

"Oh. Yeah, I mean - I think we probably do all know each other. It makes sense, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," the man said. He wanted to ask Brown-Eyes if he felt it too, the connection, the _something _that was drawing them together, but he didn't know how to say that out loud without making it sound like the world's most inappropriate pickup line, so instead he said - "What's your favorite color?"

Brown-Eyes let out a startled laugh. It made the man feel like the most powerful person in the world, to get him to smile like that. "I don't have a favorite color."

"You can't remember, you mean?"

"No, I mean - I know the answer to the question, and it's that I don't have a favorite color."

"Yeah? Not good at making decisions?"

"No," Brown-Eyes said. His eyes had gone unfocused, and he was looking over the man's shoulder, into empty space. "You know in the fall, when the leaves change color? That's my favorite."

"That's a color, and the color is _orange_," the man said, smiling to show he was teasing.

"Ha, _ha_. It's not the color it changes into, it's the fact that it changes. The leaves get darker, and then they fall off the tree and die and get all sad and crunchy, and the tree is empty, a brown nothing. Right? But you _know_. You know looking at it that in the spring, the green will come back in, and the whole thing will start all over again."

"Is that like - a pessimism thing?" the man wondered. "Because, you could look at it and only see inevitability. Like no matter how much you try and change, shit will just circle around to the same old, same old."

Brown-Eyes gave him a look, a searching, curious look, and then shook his head, laughing softly. "I definitely know you, and I feel like we've had this conversation before," he said, and the man found himself leaning forward to angle his body closer. Always closer, as close as he could get away with. "And no, it's an optimism thing, actually. Earlier I mentioned that I'm pretty sure I take meds for depression. It's something I know, not something I remember. Does that make sense?"

Eliot nodded. Insofar as there were rules to this whole memory loss thing, it seemed like they could all remember vague outlines and significant character traits, but very few of the specifics. "It makes perfect sense."

"Right, so. The trees are like - when shit gets dark for me, it's like the leaves have all changed and they've fallen off the tree and everything is barren and dead, but I _know_, because I've seen it, and I've felt it, that it's not going to be that way forever. I've hit the bottom before, and I've come around the other side of it. It happens every time, if I wait long enough or try hard enough or whatever. So I don't have a favorite color. I like it when things are changing."

The man wanted very, very badly to kiss him. It wasn't a surprising impulse, it had basically been running in a loop through his mind since he woke up and saw this ridiculously good looking person on the floor next to him. But at that moment the want was spiking into _need_, and he realized with some level of alarm that his hand was trembling where he had it rested against his own knee. He curled his fingers inward to stop the motion. "That's. Really actually quite brave of you. To look at it that way," he said, because it felt important to say it.

"Oh. Um. Okay," Brown-Eyes said. He looked down and away, coughing slightly. "Thanks. And... you?"

"Huh?"

"Your favorite color?"

"Black," the man said. "I'm sorry to say I don't have a whole life philosophy to go along with my answer."

Brown-Eyes smiled, the energy between them easy and light. "Fair enough. I think I'm kind of a rambler, sorry."

The man opened his mouth to tell him not to apologize, because he could honestly listen to him talk all day, but before he could, a voice rang out through the room.

"I remembered something." It was Eye-Patch, and she was standing on top of her chair in an imperial sort of way, facing the rest of the room and demanding silence by her very posture. When she was satisfied that everyone in the room was facing her, she cleared her throat and continued. "Hedge Witches."

There was silence in the room for a moment, and the man looked back over at Brown-Eyes, who met his eyes and shrugged.

But then, as he thought about it, there _was_ something familiar about that.

"_Hedge Witches_," Glasses repeated, looking up at Eye-Patch and nodding. "Right. We were all - we were running from them."

"Yes," Curly-Hair said. "We were trying to stop something from happening. I _remember_ that."

"But what?" Other Guy said.

"A fight," Brown-Eyes suddenly put in, nodding. "Someone asked us for a favor? Does that sound right?"

There were murmurs of consensus from all corners, and by common impulse, the group of seven all started wandering towards each other again, the thoughts and ideas flowing like they were all separate synapses in one shared brain.

"We're working with the Hedges," the man said. "Or, some of them. Against some others."

"They needed us," Eye-Patch said, a finger tapping against her chin. "For something."

"Our magic," Glasses said. "We're classically trained, unlike most of them."

"I'm not," Farmer's Daughter put in. "I'm out of place here, the rest of you are all pretty sure you're from Earth, but - "

"But that's why they needed us!" Other Guy said excitedly. "Something about Fillory, about magic, or a way of controlling - "

But the rest of his sentence was cut off by a loud screech from the side of the room. The man whirled to face it and saw the door fly open, rusty hinges shrieking as it flew inward and slammed against the inner wall. As they watched, a woman entered, looking around her with narrowed eyes and fast, determined steps. Behind her a man with black hair followed, sweeping the edges of the warehouse with his eyes, displaying the practiced efficiency of a bodyguard. He waved his hand and he door slammed shut behind him. The woman, who was wearing bright red lipstick and a scowl to rival Curly-Hair's best efforts, huffed out a loud, dramatic sigh as she looked around at the group of them.

The man raised his hands up, ready to strike, to defend himself and the others too, should it prove necessary.

"What the _hell_ are you all doing in here?" the woman asked, exasperation in every syllable. "I had to fight my way through half of Owen's coven just to make it in. I have not, nor ever _will_ have the time or _inclination _to go running around the city all night searching for a bunch of imbeciles, especially ones who are supposed to be helping me for their own damn good!" she capped off this speech with an honest-to-god stamp of her foot, which she somehow managed to make authoritative instead of whiny.

"Um," Other Guy said, "sorry?"

"Well, come on then. We've got the flower and the location, we just need to hunker down until it's time to act."

The man looked around at his companions, who had all shifted to stand closer together at the entrance of these two strangers. He looked at Eye-Patch, who blinked at him, then over to Glasses, whose eyebrows were pressed together in consternation, then over to Brown-Eyes, who gave him a knowing look. They were all on the same page - they really didn't want to tell this woman that they were without their memories. It made them incredibly vulnerable. But, at the same time, they needed information, and couldn't bluff their way through this for very long.

Taking charge, Eye-Patch cleared her throat and said, with as much confidence as she could muster: "And you are?"

The woman glared at her, clenching her jaw. "Very _funny_. I just told you I don't have time for any of your snarky shit. Let's go."

"No, she's serious," the man said. "We don't know who you are."

The woman turned her glare on him. "You're fucking with me."

"Believe me, I wish we were," Other Guy said. "But all of us just woke up here with absolutely no fucking clue who or where we are, or what we're supposed to be doing."

The woman's jaw dropped. She turned to the man standing silently next to her, and he gave her a minute shrug. She turned back, then raised her hand and formed a window with her fingers, looking through it like she was scanning them for something. The man recognized it as magic, a spell to identify other spells. "Well, _shit_," she said after a moment, dropping her hands. "This is a fucking mess."

"What's wrong with us?" Glasses asked. "And again, who are you?"

The woman let out a long groan and shook her arms around in some sort of pantomime of a child's tantrum. "_Why_ do I let myself get involved with you people? It's always _something_, isn't it? Julia's going to throw a goddamn hissy fit."

"Can you just tell us what the fuck is going on?" Curly-Hair said, taking a step forward and clenching a fist.

"Okay, _fine_. I'm Marina. This guy's Adam. I have a coven, and you all agreed to help me put another coven in line."

"For what purpose?" Glasses asked, cutting to the important issue. The man felt a swell of admiration for her, for the way she was keeping her head in the midst of all this new information. His head was still spinning from the introduction of new people into their crazy messed up situation, and a part of him wanted to shove these sudden and unpredictable factors back out the door and lock himself in here where at least things were relatively stable.

"Owen's coven is trying to hoard magic, steal it from others. He's actually been doing a pretty good job of crippling some of the other covens in the area, and it's causing some balance problems," Marina said. "And _you_ all were supposed to help me fight my way through Owen's juiced-up henchmen and then help cast a cooperative spell to save the day or whatever. Now you're just a bunch of liabilities."

Curly-Hair snarled. "Just because I don't know who I am, doesn't mean I can't do _magic_."

Adam spoke before Marina could retort, his voice soft and well-mannered. "Things being as they are, it might be best if you all stayed on the sidelines until we find a way to restore your memories."

Marina shook her head at him and waved a hand over her shoulder like she was dismissing his suggestion. "I recognize the spell, it's powerful shit. I didn't know Owen had found a psychic with that kind of juice. The only way to un-fuck y'all's brains is to wrest control back from Owen and get the caster to release your memories back to you."

"Okay, and how do we do _that_, exactly?" Farmer's Daughter asked. She seemed anxious, and as the man watched, Other Guy took a step towards her and put a comforting arm around her shoulder.

"For now, you stay where you are, until I can figure out what to do with you," Marina said. "I can't risk moving you yet, you're not up to speed with anything, you could cause a _huge_ wrench in my plans - "

"And who says we're going to let you decide what to do with us?" Farmer's Daughter said, surprisingly fierce. "Just because we can't remember everything doesn't mean we can't help."

"And who says we _want_ to help?" Curly-Hair said.

"Oh, for Christ's sake. _You_ did." Marina sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Weeks ago. But you don't remember."

"Um, Marina," Brown-Eyes said. He sounded so polite. It was endearing. "Can you tell us who the hell we are? Give us something to go off of here? None of us are carrying ID or anything."

"Oh, good idea," Glasses said, laying a hand on Brown-Eyes' shoulder. The man tried not to feel possessive of that touch. Why hadn't he thought of that? Just - touching him? Like it was a totally casual, not-weird thing to do? And then he'd be able to feel the warmth of him, bask in it, and maybe Brown-Eyes would look up at him and smile, and... he blinked, and shook himself out of his reverie, turning back to Marina, who was tapping a contemplative finger against her lip.

Finally, she gave a dramatic, heaving sigh, looking up to the ceiling as if asking for strength. "Okay, this is gonna be low-key humiliating for me, because I mostly pretend I don't care enough about you chuckle-fucks to remember your names, _but_, I can see how the situation might get confusing if we let you all go around without knowing. So."

She straightened her spine and stared around at all of them, and then pointed to each in turn, starting with Curly-Hair. "Kady. We used to work together, kinda.

"Alice. Librarian bitch, but not quite as bad as the former leadership." The man and Brown-Eyes both glared at Marina for that one, watching as Glasses - _Alice_, apparently - bristled.

Marina ignored them all and continued. "Josh. Always has the good drugs. Margo. One bad bitch, and Fillorian High King last time I checked in with the politics over there.

"Eliot, party king extraordinaire. Excellent bartender." Marina’s finger was now pointing directly at the man, who drew in a quick breath. Brown-Eyes was next to him, and the man looked down at him to see him repeat the name under his breath - _Eliot_ \- like he wanted to make sure he had it memorized. But without further commentary, before the man could let his own name - _Eliot_ \- sink in, Marina was sliding her gaze and her finger over to Brown-Eyes, and -

"Quentin," she announced. "Everyone's favorite little nerd. And..." Marina turned her eyes to Farmer's Daughter, narrowing them a bit. "I don't actually know - "

"Fen," Adam, who had stayed quiet for most of Marina's explanations, spoke up. "We met once when she was doing the New York tourist thing. "Your name is Fen." He smiled politely at Farmer's Daughter, who looked quietly pleased to have an identity at last.

"Right, the Fillorian. The one with the flower hook-up." Marina clicked her tongue at Farmer's Daughter - _Fen_ \- and gave her a wink. "Thanks for that, doll-face."

But the man wasn't paying much attention to this interplay. He was staring at Brown-Eyes. At Quentin. And Quentin was staring back. Quentin. Eliot. Quentin and Eliot? Was that crazy? Eliot wasn't sure. He wasn't sure of anything but the fact that Quentin was looking at him with those wide, pretty eyes, a hint of color on his cheeks, and he'd never felt so seen and known in his entire life. He wondered what would happen if he lifted his hand and ran his fingers down Quentin's face, to his jaw, if he cupped it in his hands and drew him up and closer, if he -

"What's this flower you keep talking about?" Fen asked. The man couldn't stop staring at Quentin, but he forced his brain to stop with its idyll fantasizing, and listened closely for the answer to Fen's question.

"Oh, it's something you all brought us from Fillory," Adam said. "We needed it for the ritual."

"And the ritual is..." Fen pressed.

"The thing to take back control of the magic from Owen," Marina said, snapping her fingers. "Keep _up_."

"Why aren't any of us carrying IDs?" Curly-Hair (Kady) asked, and Marina made a face, turning to Adam.

"I'm _bored_ of these _questions_."

Adam gave her an indulgent look and turned to the others. "You would have left them behind on purpose, in case of capture. If an enemy had found you, they would have been able to learn your names and figure out who you are."

"And we're meant to just believe that's not what's happening right now? _You_ could be our enemy, for all any of us know." Margo asked.

"I _knew your names_, didn't I?" Marina spat.

"Um, could you tell us..." Quentin blinked and looked away from the man (_Eliot_. How weird was it to hear that name, to _know_ but not to _feel_ that it belonged to him?), and stared at Marina for a second while she looked at him in impatient expectation. "So, our names. That's - great. But do you know - like - who we are? To one another? Because, you know, a lot of us noticed that we're wearing rings, and - "

Marina laughed, a cruel sound, and tapped her foot against the cement floor again. She was wearing heels, the man (Eliot) noticed, which seemed an impractical choice for running around fighting off rival Hedge Witches. "Oh _please_, like I can keep up with all that shit. I don't think I merited an invite to a single one of your weddings, so I'm certainly not going to spend precious time dredging up any snippet of gossip I might remember about the Brakebills crowd."

Quentin let out a huff of disappointed air, but Eliot wasn't sure what to think. He was a little disappointed himself, but he also didn't really want to know it if Quentin was married to someone else. Might as well let this whole ignorance thing work in his favor. As long as he didn't know for sure that Quentin _wasn't_ with him, he could indulge in the fantasy painlessly.

"But anyway," Marina said, clapping her hands together. "You all stay put, and we'll come back for you when it's time to kick things off. You won't be able to join in with the ritual itself, but your energy is still potent enough to help us."

Adam nodded. "This is mostly a numbers game." He smiled around at them, kindly enough. "Don't worry, we've got things sorted out, it's just that Owen's coven is pretty loaded down with battle mages, so getting everything set up for the ritual is involving a lot more _defense_ than is strictly ideal."

"Why can't we go with you now?" Curly - _Kady_ asked. "I mean, if we need to be there for the ritual eventually, and you need battle mages..."

"Like I sad - you're a _liability_," Marina said. She seemed to enjoy how badly she was pissing Kady off.

"You can't keep us here against our will," Kady snarled.

"Oh, I think you'll find that I _can_," Marina said. "And honestly, you're not _that_ valuable. I'm just trying to spare myself the future paperwork, as it were. If I let you all go running around like a bunch of chickens with their heads cut off, you're all going to get yourselves killed, and then I'm going to be on Julia Wicker's hit list. Even without magic, that chick's _scary_."

"Who's Julia?" Alice said. Her voice sounded weird. Eliot turned to look at her, recognizing something in that strained, oddly yearning tone.

"Oh, just another member of the Scooby Gang," Marina said. She looked at her bare wrist, then back up at them all with a grin. "Look at the time. Time to be heading off, Adam dear."

Adam nodded to her and made his way back towards the door. He raised his hands to perform a series of tuts - ostensibly, the way out of this warehouse. Eliot watched carefully - they might need to leave here after all, no matter what Marina said.

"I'm not just going to _sit here_," Kady growled, unable to let it go.

"I'm not so sure I like the idea of staying put either, " Eye-Patch said, raising an eyebrow.

Marina groaned. "Fine," she spat. "I'm just trying to do you all a _favor_, but if you want to run out into the streets and get yourself embroiled in the middle of a Hedge skirmish without _any_ idea of what's going on, be my fucking guest."

The man glared at her, and he wasn't alone. He saw Glasses and Eye-Patch (Margo, he had to start thinking of her as _Margo_, it was important) both staring her down, and Kady had actually clenched a fist and taken a couple of steps forward. "I don't like you," she said bluntly, and Marina actually smiled at that, something sparkling in her eyes.

"Oh, Kady. That's old, old news. At least for those of us who can remember." She flicked her hand around and the hangar door of the warehouse started to screech open. Acting on some kind of primal instinct, the man took a few steps to the side, to stand in front of Brown-Eyes. Quentin. _Quentin_. God, he knew that name. He _had_ to know that name, didn't he? He felt it, more than he felt his own. Quentin gave him a curious look and took a step forward so he was standing level with the man (Eliot. Eliot Eliot Eliot).

"I can look after myself," Quentin told him. He didn't sound angry or annoyed. It was like he was reassuring Eliot somehow. Eliot's chest felt tight and warm.

"Yeah. I'm sure you can," Eliot said, giving him a smile. "Some sort of vestigial protective instinct, I guess."

Quentin looked at him strangely, like he wanted to respond, but then the door stopped opening, about five feet off the ground, Eliot ducked his head slightly so he could see outside, along with everyone else gathered around Marina and Adam.

For a moment, it was just an normal, cloud-covered New York morning, a dirty alleyway with a few pieces of litter skittering down the street in a cool breeze. And then, there was a blast of light, and a group of figures appeared from behind a wall. They ran towards the building with determination in their stances, their hands raised. There were three - no, four - of them, and they looked like they meant business. Eliot felt a grip on his hand and twisted it around so he could grab back at Quentin, raising his other hand, magic pooling through him - he wasn't sure who these people were or what was going on, but he'd defend Quentin with everything he had, to the death if he had to -

But before he had time act on this startling, blazing, _imperative_ instinct, Marina moved.

She threw her hands out, and Adam raised his own arms and mirrored the motion. A wave of magical force flew out from them and blasted into the approaching figures, shoving them back several feet along the cobblestones. With a quick flip of Marina's wrist, the garage door started screeching back downwards, much quicker than it should have been able to, until it slammed against the ground.

"I told you," Marina said. "The people out there want to kill you."

"It sounds like the people out there want to kill _you_," Alice said, grim faced. Her hands were on her stomach. It seemed that when danger had approached, she had also felt an instinct for protection. The man's heart twisted in sympathy for her. He tried to picture being in this situation if he had something so helpless to protect.

"Well, yes," Marina said. "But you were helping me. So, to them, it's all the same thing."

The man - _Eliot_ \- realized he was still gripping hands with the adorable floppy-haired man beside him. In the shock of the moment, it had hardly registered as something strange. The touch had felt natural and right. And it still _did_, but now that the momentary flash of danger had passed, Eliot felt his stomach swooping within him at the pressure of those warm fingers against his. _God_, he wanted - he _wanted_. Full stop. But he had to keep focused, and listen to what Marina was telling them, and so with great reluctance he loosened his grip, feeling Quentin's hand drop away.

"Why should we trust you?" Kady spat.

"I don't give a flying _fuck_ if you trust me," Marina said, exasperated. "You were helping me to find what I needed to put Owen's coven in its place once and for all, and when you got ambushed, you ran here for protection."

"But our memories - " Margo started.

"Your memories were stolen by Owen and his coven, like we said," Adam put in. "Listen, the wards around this place were pre-set. They're the only reason you didn't get completely overrun and killed. They blocked your portal magic, they had you surrounded - it's lucky they didn't know about this place. The memory spell made it through the wards because we didn't have it warded against psychic magic."

Margo opened her mouth again in alarm, but Marina waved a hand at her, impatience in every line of her body. "It's warded _now_, I did that before I came in here to fetch you. So whatever new psychic Owen's got on a leash, they can't get to you while you're inside here."

"If we went here voluntarily, why were we locked in?" Quentin asked.

"You weren't," Marina said. "It's coded, and I taught you the code to get in and out just in case you guys needed a place to hide. You got in here, then lost your memories, and couldn't remember how to get out."

"Convenient," Margo said, eyes narrowed.

Marina threw her hands up in the hair and then slapped them down against her legs. She looked at Adam and rolled her eyes, in a _see what I have to deal with_ sort of motion.

"Okay," Eliot said. "Okay, enough. What happens next?"

"I _told you_ \- " Marina started.

"He means _after _the waiting part," Quentin said, and Eliot looked at him, grateful. "Say we stay here and wait, like you said. Eventually, we're going to have to go to wherever this ritual is happening. Even if we don't care about helping you in specific, you said that was the only way of getting our memories back."

"I think I speak for everyone when I say that's my priority right now," Glasses said. Her hand was resting on her belly again. As strange and frightening as everything was, Eliot had to admit that Alice probably had the worst deal of them all.

"Fair enough," Adam said, still kind and even-keeled. He was a good contrast to Marina's frenetic bitchiness, and Eliot wondered if that's why she gad brought him along. "If you wait here for a while, someone will come back to get you, and move you to a more secure location. The ritual can't happen until sundown two days from now - it's a moon phase thing. So it's mostly a waiting game from here on out."

"And then we go with you to the ritual?" Alice asked. "And our magic is used to fuel it?"

"Yes," Adam said. "Exactly."

"And if we don't like what you're up to," Kady said, "we'll just run."

Eliot nearly rolled his eyes at her. "Way to give away the backup plan, genius." Kady looked at him and _did_ roll her eyes, but she acknowledged his point with a wry grin.

"You can do whatever the hell you want as long as you don't fuck over this plan," Marina said. "It's in your best interests to work with me, here. Owen is a greedy hoarding bastard, and if you could remember what we agreed on back when this all started, you'd be on board."

And that was pretty much that. With a few more snarky, biting remarks, Marina waggled her fingers in farewell and made to exit. Adam gave a much friendlier wave to the group, and they performed the tuts with their backs to the seven newly named strangers, quietly slipping back out into the night.

"How the hell are they planning on making it past those battle mages?" Alice asked. The warehouse appeared to be sound-proofed in some way, because they couldn't hear anything going on outside of it.

"They know where they're going and what they're doing," Eliot said. "Loath as I am to admit it, Marina's right. We would have been a liability if we tried to make a run for it right now."

There was silence for a couple of moments, and then Other Guy (Josh) clapped his hands together and rubbed them back and forth. "Should we play sad, awkward, getting-to-know-you games or something?"

"How are we supposed to _get to know_ each other without _knowing ourselves_?" Margo pointed out, laughing at him with something close to affection in her eyes.

But Eliot was remembering Quentin's answer to his inane "favorite color" question. There was a lot to learn about a person that went deeper than details.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are two key things that make this story different from the rest in the series. The first is that the entire thing is from Eliot's point of view. This gave the story more focus for me, but did provide its own challenges.
> 
> The second is that, by necessity, there's a lot more plot going on here, which is something I'm a little less confident about. I want to reassure everyone that the Hedge Witch plot is just an excuse for relationship stuff, just like in all of the other stories. Still, I hope I do justice to a more expansive story!
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading. :)


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The yearning... OH THE YEARNING.

After Marina had left, there were a lot of angry, stressed grumblings about next moves. The fact of the matter was, none of them had any reason to trust Marina, any more than they had a reason to trust one another. That feeling, that connection, that the man - _Eliot, his name was Eliot, he needed to remember that _\- had felt for some of the others in the room, had certainly not extended to Marina. She seemed like a self-interested, manipulative bitch.

But on the other hand, Marina was right about the chaos going on outside of the warehouse. This, at least, was a defensible position for them to use until they came up with a better idea. And if Marina was right, if they'd have to wait for the ritual to get their memories back anyway, maybe waiting things out was the best move. If the man - _Eliot_ \- suddenly remembered everything and realized these people were his enemies, he'd deal with it then.

After a reluctant consensus that staying put was the best move for the time being, the group had splintered, seeking time to reflect as best as they were able, given the limited space available to them. Curly-Hair (Kady) had taken to pacing along the perimeter of the cavernous space, and had practically snarled at Josh when he'd tried to ask how she was doing.

Josh had subsequently gone to talk with Fen, while Brown-Eyes, (_Quentin_, and somehow that name still felt more familiar and _right_ to him than even his own) had gone to talk to Alice.

Which left Eliot alone with the vivacious one-eyed woman who Marina had described as a "bad bitch," like it was a compliment. Which it totally was.

"So... Margo, huh?" The man - _Eliot, goddamnit_ \- asked. "That's better than what I've been calling you in my head."

Margo wrinkled her nose at him. "I was just thinking of you as the tall gay one. What honorific did I merit?" she batted her eyelashes at him and Eliot laughed at her.

"Eye-Patch."

Margo's mouth dropped open and she slapped him playfully on the shoulder. "_Rude_."

"It's a very distinctive eye patch! What do you want from me? I'm under a lot of pressure right now, it's not my best work."

Margo smiled at him, and then shook her head, wondering. "How is it that I feel like I know you?"

"I don't know," Eliot said, sighing. "I feel it too, though. For all of these people, to some degree. What Quentin said before - when this all started... I just know I can trust you."

"You're not worried we're all being duped?"

"Oh, constantly," Eliot said. What he didn't say was the rest of the thought. He was wary of everyone and everything, constantly on the lookout for a way to access his memories. But there was something soul-deep in him that knew Margo was to be trusted. He knew the same thing about Quentin. If he turned out to be wrong, he was pretty sure it was going to break his heart.

But that was a thing that a crazy person would think. Quentin couldn't break his heart. He didn't even _know_ Quentin.

But he wanted to. He wanted to know Margo, too. It was odd, because there really wasn't much they could do about it. Eliot could ask Margo questions - where are you from, what are your interests, What's your _last name_, even, and Margo would have no idea. But his earlier conversation with Quentin gave him at least a few ideas of where to start.

"Hey, what's your favorite color?" Eliot asked.

Margo raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow at him. "What?"

"Just - answer. What's the first thing that comes to your mind."

"Red," Margo said decisively.

"Do you... _remember_ that, or do you just _know_ it?" Eliot asked.

"I don't..." Margo frowned. "I don't know, I think I just know it. The same way I know I - " she cut herself off, her eyes skittering over to a couple of chairs a short distance away, where Fen and Josh were sitting, in intense conversation. Josh had a hand on Fen's shoulder in a familiar sort of way. "This is so weird."

Eliot studied the expression on Margo's face. There was something familiar to the twist of queasy jealousy to her lips. He wondered idly which of the two of them, Josh or Fen, Margo was jealous _of_, and which she was jealous _over_.

There was a pretty obvious reason that Margo's expression of jealousy felt familiar, loath as Eliot was to admit it to himself. His own stomach turned sour as he caught sight of Quentin and Alice sitting across the room, in a similar position to Josh and Fen. As he watched, Quentin smiled warmly at Alice, and at her nod of shy permission, placed a hand over her belly. Quentin's wedding ring glinted in the light from Alice's still-hovering ball of illumination, as his hand pressed gently onto Alice. She was looking at him fondly, and he was grinning in wonder at whatever he felt under his hand. Eliot swallowed, hard.

"You've got it bad," Margo remarked, and Eliot felt a rush of defensiveness.

"Yeah, well so do you," he said, jerking his head towards Josh and Fen.

"I never said I didn't."

"Do you think - I mean, apparently I'm _married_, Margo. Do you think it's possible..."

Margo shrugged, studying Quentin and Alice across the room for a moment. "Is it weird that I care so much about this? About - about all of us, and how we know each other? I keep thinking there's a part of me that's missing, and then I remember - _all_ of me is missing. I should be a lot more scared to be around a lot of strangers. I should be a lot more worried about some crazy Hedge Witch battle than I am about my love life."

"None of you are strangers," Eliot said. "You couldn't be a stranger to me, Margo. I'm pretty sure I love you."

That was a definitively stupid thing to say, and risky, too, in the event that Margo was some sort of double agent, but Margo grinned at him with something like relief on her face. "You don't think _we're_ married, do you?"

Eliot laughed, and knew Margo wouldn't be offended by it. "It would be an _honor_, Margo, truly. I am unworthy of your majesty's kind attentions. But no, somehow I don't think so."

"So there's no reason to think you and the little mousy nerd boy aren't making sweet, fumbling love to one another every night. Maybe he and Alice are just friends."

Eliot thought about calling her a hypocrite as he looked over at Josh. _Mousy nerd boy indeed_.

"Maybe," he said instead, frowning. "Or maybe none of us are actually married to each other at all. You're right, it's a weird thing to focus on, given everything else that's going on."

"Or perhaps it's exactly the thing we _should_ be focusing on," Margo said. "It beats being bored out of my head, anyway."

Eliot tilted his own head in acknowledgment of this. "Which one of them do you think you're fucking?" he asked her, jerking his head again over to Josh and Fen.

Margo's bronze skin went slightly red. "A lady never hypothetically-kisses-and-tells, Eliot."

Eliot laughed at her, and kissed her on the forehead. It felt as natural as breathing.

* * *

Despite the low level of fear still thrumming through Eliot, by the time a couple more hours had passed, he had to admit to himself that he was thoroughly _bored_. He felt restless with the need to take some sort of action, but he also knew that staying put really was the wisest choice.

Kady was still pacing, but she'd fallen into conversation with Margo now, which meant that Eliot was alone, staring listlessly at the wall, when Quentin wandered up and pulled a chair up closer to him.

His mood brightened instantly. "Hey, Quentin."

"Hey, Eliot."

There was something so sweetly pleasurable about having actual names, even if they'd had to be told them by an angry Hedge leader with an attitude problem.

"So how's Glasses?"

"What?"

"I mean, Alice," Eliot said, grinning.

Quentin chuckled. "Alice is good. Well, she's... she's okay." The grin on his face shifted slightly, and a worried line appeared between his eyebrows. "God, I can't even imagine being her right now."

"Yeah," Eliot said, sighing. "We've all got it bad, but to be here and to be..."

"Exactly. And - " Quentin hesitated, looking at Eliot and then away.

"What?"

"Well, she thinks someone's missing. And honestly, Eliot, so do I. It's like I keep expecting to turn around and see... _someone_, but they're not there."

Eliot frowned, searching his brain fruitlessly for answers. It was beyond frustrating, to know that just beyond some sort of magical barrier, there was vital information, and to be absolutely powerless to access it. "Maybe," he said finally. "I don't know. Every time I try and fish for specifics, my head starts pounding."

Quentin nodded. "Assuming Marina's telling us the truth - "

"A big assumption."

"Yeah, but, for the sake of argument... if she's telling the truth, and we're helping her to fight against this Owen guy's coven, why do you think they chose this specific curse to hurt us?"

Eliot bit his lip. He'd been thinking about that, too. "Well, she said that this warehouse is warded. Maybe psychic attacks were all they had at their disposal."

"Yeah, that makes sense," Quentin said. "But what was their endgame, then? Were they hoping we'd all wake up scared and confused, and just attack each other in fear?"

Eliot's heart jerked in his chest hard enough to hurt. He tried to imagine what he would have done if he'd woken up and Quentin had attacked him. Would he have defended himself? Would he, in any possible universe, have been able to do harm to the person sitting next to him right now? No. No, he would have let Quentin kill him first.

And wasn't _that_ a disturbing thought. He blinked to find Quentin looking at him in concern. "Eliot?"

"Maybe that was what Owen's coven wanted," he said finally, coughing away the gruffness in the words. "But it never would have worked. At least, not for me."

Quentin's face went smooth in understanding. "No, me neither. I never could have hurt you," he said, as simple and confident as anything. "Not ever. Not you, or Alice, or any of us."

Eliot nodded, his throat momentarily too tight for words. "We have to know each other," he said finally. "If we believe Marina about our names, about what's going on here, then we have to believe that part of it too."

Quentin nodded, fervent, and scooted the chair a little closer, leaning forward. His voice had gone low, a gentle whisper. "Eliot, do you - I mean, can you - "

Eliot's face was growing warm, and he leaned in, greedy for every word. "Quentin, I - "

"Hey, guys, I think I'm a _drug dealer_," Josh said loudly, coming up to the two of them. "Didn't Marina say something about that?" He waved a small baggie of something in their faces. "I found this in my pocket. Anyone wanna give it a try?"

Eliot and Quentin looked at each other for a moment in shared chagrin, and then burst out laughing.

* * *

They stayed in that warehouse for six more hours, until, according to Alice, who was the only one wearing a watch, it was edging past one in the afternoon. They'd spent that time bored, and hungry, and increasingly cranky. The dusty plastic water bottles had been cracked open, but nobody had found any handy food caches in the room or in their pockets. Eliot had reluctantly declined Josh's offer, and then slapped the drugs out of Margo's hands when he saw her observing it with a bit too much curiosity.

"I'm _bored_," she whined, leaning against him.

"That shit could be straight-up poison," Eliot reminded her.

"Hey, I wouldn't poison anyone!" Josh said, indignant.

"Not on purpose, maybe," Kady said. She rolled her eyes and picked up the fallen packet, chucking it in to the corner of the room away from all of them. "But you could have been carrying that around to use it on an enemy, dip-shit."

"We should decide how much longer we're going to tolerate sitting around here," Alice said. "Because at some point I'm going to try and break out, no matter - "

But the door was opening again, and Eliot's brief spark of alarm was somewhat appeased when he saw that it was only Adam. Still, he stood up straight and felt the rest of them doing the same - finally, it was time for action.

"So, uh. Good news, bad news," Adam said, breathing heavily as he slammed the door shut behind him. "You guys can leave, but you can't go straight to Marina's safe-house. It's kind of a little bit under attack right now."

"What happened?" Alice asked, just as Margo said -

"Where are we going?"

Adam took a couple more heaving breaths, clearly waiting for his heart-rate to slow down. He pulled a piece of paper out from his jacket and opened it, gesturing for them all to come near.

"There's an apartment relatively close by," Adam said, gesturing at a hand-drawn map as they all walked closer. This place was warded to keep you all safe, but it's not foolproof, and they know you're here. We've got to get you somewhere more secure, especially after what we just did to Owen's safe-house."

"What did you do to - " Fen started to ask, but Adam waved a hand to silence her. Eliot shot a look at Quentin, and found Quentin looking back at him with concern. He shuffled closer to him. For no particular reason whatsoever.

"That doesn't matter. What matters is that you guys aren't safe here anymore, and Julia's not going to help Marina if anything happens to you, so we've got to move."

"Who's Julia?" Alice asked. Her voice sounded weird again. "Marina said that name before."

"She's a friend of yours," Adam said. "To be honest, I don't know how everyone here's related, it's messy and complicated and involves a lot of trauma, from what I can understand."

"Trauma?" Alice said, her voice brittle with uncertainty. Kady put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

"I'm sorry, I don't have time to get into it," Adam said. "If I even knew enough to get into. We've got to move."

"What is this place?" Eliot asked, looking at the paper. It was only about ten blocks away, at least according to the crudely drawn map in front of him.

"Apartment," Adam repeated unhelpfully. "Um. Kady's, I think. Some of you live there, when you're not in Fillory. Again, guys, I'm really just a henchman, I don't have the time to keep up with all of this."

"Did you just self-identify as a henchman?" Margo asked, raising an amused eyebrow.

"Marina runs a tight ship," Adam said, shrugging with absolutely no shame. "So, everyone ready?"

* * *

The plan was simple, yet somehow absurdly dangerous. The four Hedges from Owen's coven who had tried to rush the warehouse earlier were still lurking outside, _but, _if they could get past them, their route to this apartment would hopefully be clear.

"I can bend light," Alice said, "create a shield that will make us mostly invisible."

"Can it cover all of us?" Fen asked.

"I don't think so," Alice said. "I can't be sure. Four, maybe five, but not seven."

"Eight," Adam said. "I'm escorting you. Why don't we split into two groups of four, then? Stay close as much as we can, split up and reconvene if it proves necessary."

Eliot hated that idea, a lot. But it made a certain amount of sense. Eight people was a large group when you wanted to move swiftly and stealthily. And when they started working out strengths and vulnerabilities, the split between the eight of them became pretty obvious. And Eliot hated that even more.

Kady and Adam were the strongest battle mages of the bunch, so they would take charge of the two halves. Fen was the weakest, having no magic to defend herself, but Adam did give her a dagger with which Fen felt she might do okay. (_"I don't know, I just have a feeling I've used one of these things before!"_). Fen would stay with Adam. Josh, who had unabashedly admitted that he wasn't much for Physical magics, would stay with Kady, as the other self-proclaimed "weak link."

And because Quentin's physical magic was proving to be more detail-oriented, it was deemed a good idea that he stay with Alice and her light-bending. The two of them went with Kady and Josh, leaving Eliot and Margo to go with Adam and Fen.

"Quentin," Eliot said, as they prepared to head out. He wanted to tell him to stay close, but he couldn't. If they needed to split up, they would be going in different directions. The thought was making his throat close up and sweat break out on the back of his neck. "Quentin, be careful, okay?"

Quentin met his eyes, a flash of - what, concern? - flitting over his face briefly. He gave a soft smile, and put his hand lightly on the crook of Eliot's elbow. He felt the touch, warm and perfect, even through the fabric of his shirt. "You too." He swallowed, blinking up at Eliot with wide, earnest eyes. "I mean it, Eliot. I want you in one piece."

He had turned away and gone to join Alice for a last discussion on phosphoromancy and how he could augment her spell-work, before Eliot could think of anything else to say.

And then, after that, there wasn't a lot of time for talking.

Adam had seemed hopeful that they could sneak out past Owen's guards, with the help of Alice's light bending, as well as a few tricks he had up his own sleeve. Instead, the second they had all exited the warehouse and started a quiet yet swift walk to the street corner, they heard a _whoop_ of triumph from behind them, and all hell broke loose.

"_Go_," Adam yelled, and Eliot, working off of instinct, shoved Margo and Fen both in front of him so that he could bring up the rear. He shot a defensive spell over his shoulder, his hands as steady as they'd ever been, and heard a gong-like sound that meant something had hit off of his protective shield. He scanned frantically for the other four, and for a moment panic squeezed tight in his chest when he couldn't find them - but a shimmer of air peeling off to the left reminded him that this was the point - Alice must be protecting them by bending the light around them.

They kept running, Eliot worrying about how Alice was going to move fast enough. He tried to call up to Adam, to suggest they double back and provide cover so that the other group would have a better chance, but Adam had shot him a look and kept on going forward - "No_ time_, we're going!"

By the time they'd run a couple of blocks, and a lucky shot from what Eliot assumed was a still-invisible Kady had knocked out one of their pursuers, Eliot had become lightheaded with panic. If he'd ever been a proper battle mage, he couldn't remember it now, and the fact was, he was terrified. For himself, sure, but for all of his - friends, or whatever they were - even more.

Eliot kept running, his head on a swivel for any sign of the other group, all while trying to keep himself in between Fen and Margo and their pursuers. One spell made it through Margo's shield and hit her in the leg, sending her tumbling. She was already lurching back to her feet before Eliot had had time to be truly panicked for her, and she pushed his arm away as he tried to reach forward and help to steady her. "Go, _go_," she gasped. "It's just pain."

Well _that_ was comforting. As they got closer and closer to their destination, Eliot noted that they now only had two Hedges chasing them - he hadn't seen where the third one went, but assumed someone must have incapacitated her during the run.

And then he caught a flutter of movement and saw, down at the end of the block they were currently crossing, the others flicker into vision. Kady and Josh were standing protectively in front of Alice and Quentin. Something was wrong.

Eliot had started to veer in that direction before he'd even fully registered what he was seeing, and he heard Adam give a muffled curse as Margo and Fen immediately followed him.

"What's wrong?" he called out as they approached, running full-tilt. Alice was heaving for breath, leaning almost all of her weight against Quentin. Eliot scanned Quentin's face. Other than fear and exhaustion, he appeared unhurt, and a small measure of the terror in Eliot's heart unclenched.

"I'm - sorry - " Alice gasped out, trying to catch her breath. "I - couldn't - "

"It's too much, she can't maintain the spell and _run_ at the same time when she's - " Quentin said, and Eliot nodded.

"Yeah, okay, let's stick together - we're getting close."

Adam gave a sigh of exasperation but didn't argue the change in plan, just waved them onward.

The eight of them moved on, much slower this time, with Alice kept protectively in the center. Kady, Eliot, and Adam circled the edge of the group, repelling the advances of the battle mages, who were now gaining on them quickly. By the time they'd reached the corner of the street and saw their destination ahead of them, the two Hedges, one man and one woman, both with determination in their eyes, were practically on top of them. They were firing off attacks faster than Eliot could even process. He felt one fly right past his ear just as he caught another against his shield - even with only two casters against their entire group, it was a close match. Too close.

And then a third Hedge Witch rounded the corner and came to join her companions. She'd clearly peeled off and made to ambush them. "Shit," Eliot, Margo, and Adam all said at the same time.

"You all go," Adam said, bringing his hands up in front of him and standing firm. "Get inside, I'll hold them off."

"But - " Margo said.

"Don't be a hero," Eliot said, grabbing at her arm. "Let's _go_."

"I was just going to say, we don't know what room - "

"I've got the key," Kady said, patting at her pocket. "We'll figure it out, let's get inside, _now_."

They ran for it, hearing the sounds over their shoulders of Adam squaring off against Owen's three witches. Margo and Eliot each sent a final spell over their shoulders to help hold them off, and then they were inside the building, running as fast as Alice's pace would allow. Kady fished the key out of her pocket, read the room number, and bolted for the elevator banks.

At the door to the apartment itself, Josh threw an arm out before Kady could put the key in. "Wait," he said. He looked like he was going to be sick. "Make sure it's not warded."

It _was_, actually, but Kady and Alice both seemed to remember how to bypass the magic. Alice was still heaving for breath, so Kady did it, a quick spell, more like a password, and the wards fell. Eliot caught Alice and Kady shooting each other curious looks, wondering at their strange shared memory. The second they were all inside, Kady slammed the door shut behind her. The door frame glowed for a moment, re-setting the magical wards, and Kady slumped against the door, her head banging back onto it. "_Fuck_."

Eliot looked around at the group of them, scanning for injury, his heart still pounding in his ears. Margo was balancing almost entirely on one leg, her face pinched in pain. Josh looked dazed and ashen but, as far as Eliot could tell, unhurt, and Quentin was helping to support Alice, an arm around her shoulders.

"We should get you sitting down," Quentin said, his voice low and gentle. Alice nodded, still heaving for breath from the run. Eliot jumped forward to help, and the two of them guided her to a chair in the living room. By common consent the others all crowded around, flopping onto couches. Quentin stayed kneeling next to Alice, a hand on her arm.

"I'm okay," Alice said after a couple of moments. "Um. Water would be good, though." Kady jumped to her feet and rushed to the kitchen, while the rest of them sat around and willed their own heart-rates to slow.

"Does anyone else feel like we're way out of our league here?" Josh asked.

"No," Kady said, returning with a glass of water for Alice.

Eliot laughed, but Kady shot a look at him, shaking her head. "I'm serious," she said. "I don't think we're out of our league at all. I think this is child's play."

"Tell that to my leg!" Margo demanded, lifting the appendage in question. "It's just one giant bruise."

"I think that if we all had our memories and were operating at 100%, this would have been no problem for us," Kady insisted, and Eliot found himself actually agreeing with her.

So did Quentin, evidently, because he looked away from Alice and addressed the group. "Kady's right. The way that Adam and Marina have both talked about us, all the hints we can remember, about Fillory, and being royalty... I think we're kind of a big deal." His face twisted up like he couldn't believe he'd just said that, and it made Eliot's heart flutter. Adorable. Criminally adorable.

"I don't feel like a big deal right now," Alice said, her voice weak. She'd downed the glass of water in a few big swallows, and her breathing had returned mostly to normal. She still didn't look good. "And I should probably eat something."

Josh jumped to his feet. "Well lucky for you, I'm a great cook. I've just remembered."

* * *

It turned out, being on the run from malicious Hedge Witches while trying to set up a crazy complex magical ritual to save the day involved a lot of hurry-up-and-wait. By the time everyone wearing impractical Fillorian garb had changed into something more comfortable (raiding the closets in the apartment bedrooms and finding clothes that fit them perfectly had been slightly disconcerting), it was nearly three in the afternoon. It had been the early hours of the morning when they'd woken up in that warehouse together, but despite the long, _long_ day and the near miss they'd all just experienced, none of them felt like sleeping. Eliot was exhausted, but he couldn't turn his brain off enough to even think about getting any rest just yet.

In the absence of a better plan, the seven of them had agreed to follow Marina's instructions once again, and they were staying put in the apartment awaiting her call. Adam had filled them in on the vague outline, just before they'd made their daring escape from the warehouse. Apparently, now that they had the magic flower they needed, the spell had to take place in a specific park, during a specific phase of the moon, with specific magical energies being harnessed... it was all very _specific. _Eliot's head pounded with the desire to _remember_. He felt sure he'd understood this plan once, and knew exactly how he could be most helpful. The seven of them had been reduced from precision instruments to blunt, single-purpose batteries, good only for fueling the spell when it took place, given that they didn't have enough time to re-learn the ritual itself.

But all of that couldn't happen until the following night, and so for the time being, they were all lounging around an apartment none of them recognized, despite Adam's hesitant belief that they'd pretty much all lived there at some point or another.

Josh was in the kitchen making more food for everyone, with Fen's assistance, while Margo sat at one of the bar stools and watched, her bruised leg resting on another stool, wrapped haphazardly in ice packs raided from the freezer. Alice had disappeared into one of the bedrooms after munching on a handful of crackers to settle her stomach, and Kady had followed after a while to make sure she was okay. Which just left Eliot and Quentin sitting on a couch together in the living room.

How was it possible to feel so comfortable around someone he didn't know? Everything about this situation should be terrifying to him, and in some ways it was. But he chose to lean in to the giddy joy of it instead, letting himself feel flustered and spellbound, like a kid with a new and exciting crush.

"So... _Fillory and Further_?" Eliot asked him. They were sitting close enough that their shoulders were brushing every time either of them moved, and Eliot had decided to allow himself the indulgence of asking Quentin more about himself. Sure, they were still limited in what they each remembered. But he wanted every scrap that the man next to him was willing to share. He felt greedy for it, like the hole inside of him where his memories were meant to be could only be filled if he learned everything there was to know about Quentin.

Quentin laughed a little sheepishly. "You know, I can remember everything about those books? The whole plot. When we were in the warehouse before, Margo and I were talking about it. We could recount all of the characters, lines of dialogue, _everything_. But if you asked me where I was when I was reading them? No idea. Who gave them to me? No clue."

"It's so fucking weird," Eliot said, sympathetic. "Believe me, I get it. Did you know I have like... dozens of magical cocktail recipes memorized? Also crop rotation schedules for Fillory?"

Quentin grinned at him, eyes bright. "Magical cocktails?"

"I'd make you one right now if staying sober didn't seem so incredibly important today."

Quentin sighed, the smile slipping off of his face. He brushed a hand through his hair and Eliot wanted to follow that hand with his own, feel the strands slip through his fingers.

"Very good point."

Eliot studied his face, the worried lines between his brows, and steadfastly ignored the continuing urge to reach up and smooth them away. "Are you doing okay?"

"Oh, you know. I guess? How am I supposed to tell?"

"Quentin."

"Yeah. Yes, Eliot, I'm doing about as well as can be expected, given the non-stop panic and dread and the inescapable feeling that the entire world is spinning out of control. How about you?"

"Samesies," Eliot said. And then, after a calculated pause, "but you said you took meds for depression. You remembered that. And if you're supposed to be taking them, or doing something, for your mental illness, you obviously haven't done it today. So I guess I'm asking you, _are you doing okay_?"

He worried for a moment that he'd crossed a line, but Quentin didn't seem angry. "I looked in the bathroom for any medication with my name on it, but I didn't see anything."

Eliot sat up, interested. "I think some of the clothes in that bedroom over there are mine," he said, plucking at the vest he'd changed into. His other outfit had been fine silk, sullied somewhat by all the running around earlier. He thought maybe it matched the aesthetic of Margo and Fen's outfits - Fillorian, in other words.

"Right," Quentin said, nodding. "Adam said he thought a lot of us had lived here, at least for a while. I thought - if I _am_ taking meds, maybe there's a pill bottle somewhere. And if we all left our phones and wallets and stuff behind on purpose, wouldn't it make sense for them to be here?"

That had been pretty much the first thing they'd checked, when they'd all settled in to the apartment. But if their personal belongings _were_ hidden somewhere here, they were magically cloaked well enough that none of them could sense it.

"Fuck, I'd kill for a phone," Eliot said. "Not to call anyone, just - "

"Yeah," Quentin said. "Text messages, calendar appointments, social media, _search history_ \- anything would be helpful. Right now I feel like some random, generic guy, and I guess the name Quentin fits with that as good as anything else, but I don't _feel_ like me. Does that make sense?"

"Perfect sense," Eliot said. He thought about telling Quentin the unbridled truth - that the name _Eliot_ felt more like his own when Quentin was the one saying it, that whoever he was, the best version of it involved Quentin by his side. Instead, he coughed and raised an eyebrow, looking for a more neutral change of topic.

"Do you think Farmer's Daughter, I mean, Fen - is with Josh or Margo?"

"Uh... good question. But why are you assuming she's with one of them? What if none of them are together? What if they're all married to other people they can't even remember right now?" Quentin asked.

"No way. Have you seen the way Margo's been hovering? I'd bet you anything they're a couple, and Josh is the sad third wheel."

"What if _Josh and Margo_ are the couple, and they're trying to seduce Fen?" Quentin suggested.

Eliot laughed, and turned his head in time to catch Quentin biting his lip against a smile. Eliot allowed himself the indulgence of shifting over so their arms were pressed fully together, shoulder to elbow. He felt the point of contact through his shirt like a brand. It was starting to get extremely difficult not to touch him more. It was like his arm had a mind of its own. He'd had to stop himself on several different occasions from swinging it casually around Quentin's shoulder, pulling the shorter man into his side to give him a kiss on the temple. _Muscle memory_, the hopeful part of his brain was telling him. _Wishful thinking, _the much larger pessimistic part insisted.

"So... Farmer's Daughter?" Quentin asked, with a wry raise of his eyebrows. "I can see that, it fits. What did you call Josh, before you knew his name?"

"Other Guy," Eliot admitted, shrugging. "Not my most creative."

"And me?" Quentin asked. He was blushing, and Eliot ached for him. "If Josh was 'the other guy,' what was I?"

"Brown-Eyes," Eliot said, soft, and the eyes in question flickered up to meet his, wide and round. "You have... um. You have really nice eyes."

"Eliot," Quentin said. The sound of Eliot's own name in Quentin's voice... it was music. Hearing Quentin say his name made it real, made it his identity. He was Eliot. The man in front of him was Quentin. And also, he was pretty sure they were about to kiss.

"Quentin," he echoed, pulled into his orbit. Quentin blinked a few times like he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. "Quentin, do you - I mean - "

"Yes," Quentin said, and he tilted his face up. Eliot bent down to meet him half way. Every hair on his body was standing on end, and his eyelids felt heavy. The second their lips touched, Eliot was lost.

It was a soft kiss, nearly chaste to start, but then Quentin parted his lips and Eliot curled his tongue forward, feeling the pressure and warmth of Quentin's mouth against him. It felt indescribable, and nothing, not even the fact that they were in a public space with several chattering voices audible in the kitchen just behind them, could have stopped Eliot from surging ahead, deepening the kiss. Quentin let out a little moan, and Eliot grunted, just the sound of it making heat coil tight in his stomach. He slid his hands around to Quentin's waist and tugged, and - yes, Quentin knew what he wanted, understood what to do - he slid forward into Eliot's lap, and before Eliot could really process it, they were making out ferociously on the couch like a couple of teenagers.

Quentin felt so good pressed against him, like he belonged there. He kept making these soft perfect noises, scooting forward again until his legs were wrapped entirely Eliot's waist. He was kissing Eliot like he was made for it, his lips and tongue soft and yielding, but yet still oddly purposeful under Eliot's onslaught. Their hearts were beating hard against one another. Eliot drifted on the feeling for a long time, feeling himself start to get hard, feeling the warmth and pressure of this beautiful body stirring against his own, but after a while even the feel of him in his lap wasn't enough. Eliot tipped forward, guiding Quentin down on the couch and pressing down into him, kissing him wet, and deep, and endless. He could feel Quentin, half-hard against him, and shifted his hips just so, until -

"_Fuck_," Quentin said, in the space between their lips. He canted his hips up into Eliot's. "We can't," he said, but he did it again, straining forward. Both of his hands were locked in Eliot's hair, gripping hard, and he was breathing heavily, practically panting into Eliot's mouth.

"No, you're right," Eliot said, dropping forward to lick and bite at Quentin's neck. "This is a spectacularly terrible idea." He felt lightheaded.

"I don't even know you," Quentin gasped, running his hands down Eliot's back and grabbing at his ass, to push him down even harder as he lifted his own hips up.

Now it was Eliot's turn to curse, his hips stuttering as he sucked at Quentin's pulse point. He wanted to leave a mark, but that was probably something you asked about before just doing it. _But Quentin loves it when you mark him up_, a voice in Eliot's head said, and the certainty with which he thought this was enough to make him pause, lifting up just slightly to stare down at the man underneath him.

Quentin actually whined and bowed his back upwards, chasing the feel of Eliot's lips on his skin, and Eliot very nearly succumbed. Maybe Josh and the others in the kitchen would get the hint and go hide in one of the bedrooms while he and Quentin -

"Okay, wait. Wait, stop," Eliot said, the words costing him a terrible effort. Quentin did immediately, lifting his hands from Eliot's ass and staring up at him, wide eyed and pink mouthed and scared.

"Sorry," he said, a question in his voice. He squirmed slightly, trying to move out from under Eliot, but that wasn't at all what Eliot wanted - he grabbed at Quentin's wrists and pinned them down, keeping him firmly held under his body.

"No," Eliot said. "Don't say sorry, I - I just think we should probably be pragmatic about this."

Quentin blinked at him and then smiled, tugging gently until Eliot got the hint and released his arms. He slid up and pushed at Eliot until they were sitting up on the couch again, their legs still tangled together, Quentin half seated in his lap. "Okay. Pragmatism. I think I can do that, but not when you're on top of me."

"Well," Eliot said, swallowing. His heart was still beating very, very, fast. "Um."

"Um?" Quentin said, gentle teasing in his eyes.

"_Um_," Eliot repeated. "It's like you said. We don't know each other."

Quentin frowned at that, and brought a hand up, brushing it through Eliot's hair with an aching tenderness. It was familiar and brand new all at the same time. Eliot felt raw and twitchy, like he was denying his body the air it needed to breathe. "I feel like I know you," Quentin said softly. "Don't you - "

"Yes," Eliot said. "Yeah, I feel it. Believe me."

"So then - "

"But what if we're _wrong_?" Eliot said, pitching his voice low. He tried to hide how desperate and shaken the very idea of it made him, but wasn't sure he succeeded. "I don't know who I am, who you are, _anything_. But I think - Quentin, I don't think I'm a good person."

"What?" Quentin frowned again, and his hand curled gently around the side of Eliot's jaw. "What are you talking about?"

"I want you so much. I - I woke up and I didn't know who or where I was or what was going on and I saw you, and I just - I wanted to pin you down right there in that goddamn warehouse and - " he bit off the rest of the words, shuddering, and felt Quentin's body jerk, bringing them closer together, seating himself more properly in Eliot's lap.

"And that makes you a bad person? Because if it does," Quentin said, his forehead resting against Eliot's, "I'm just as bad."

"Yeah?" Eliot said. His throat was constricted around the word. Quentin rocked forward into him, like he couldn't help himself, and Eliot let out a gasp, helpless. He dropped his head down to rest it in the crook of Quentin's neck. "Okay. But. But Quentin. If I wake up from this and you're not mine, I don't know if - I don't know how to handle that."

Quentin stilled the motion of his hips, but he slid his hands over Eliot's back, up and down in a ridiculously comforting caress. "I guess I just don't understand why you'd want to fight this."

Eliot lifted his head away so he could meet Quentin's eyes. "I _don't_ want to. Believe me. But I think I need to. What if we're both cheating on someone right now?"

Quentin's hands stopped moving, but he didn't pull away. "I hadn't - I hadn't really - "

"What if you've got some pretty little wife or husband _waiting_ for you somewhere? What if - " he paused, swallowing, thinking of Alice, and Quentin's hand on her stomach. "What if you have _kids_, a family, and now you're making out with some random stranger on a couch - "

And now Quentin was pulling away from him entirely, sliding back until he was seated on the couch next to Eliot, no longer touching. He felt a shock of cold rush through him, and fought the impulse to reach for him and pull him back in.

"Is that what you think?" Quentin asked. His voice was soft, his tone nearly impossible to interpret. Nervous, Eliot met his eyes and saw a wariness there, maybe a hint of fear. "You don't think it's us?"

"I _want_ to think that," Eliot said. It probably should have felt weird to be telling someone he'd just met that he really hoped they were married. But it didn't feel weird at all. "I just... don't think we should confuse what we're feeling for reality."

Quentin looked down at his hands for a long time. "Okay," he said, bobbing his head up and down. "Okay, sorry."

He slid up from the couch and took a step away, but Eliot reached out and grabbed his wrist, tugging him around to face him. "Don't," he said.

"Don't what?"

"Look at me like that. And don't _apologize_." Eliot couldn't have said why, exactly, but there was something devastatingly familiar about the expression on Quentin's face. Like Eliot was hurting him, and, even worse, he wasn't at all surprised by it. It was making Eliot's chest tight, his blood pounding in his temples. "Please, just - sit down, okay?"

Quentin did, frowning in uncertainty and tugging his wrist out of Eliot's grasp. "What's the explanation for how we're both feeling?" Quentin asked, nearly whispering, almost timid. "If it's not some sort of memory from our real lives?"

"Maybe it is," Eliot whispered back. "Maybe it is, but we're not actually together."

Quentin huffed out a breath that would have been a laugh, if his eyes hadn't been so tired and sad. "So your explanation is that we're both pining for each other and yet we aren't together? Why would you default to such a shitty - "

"I'm not saying that's what I think either," Eliot cut in. "All I'm saying, Quentin, is that there are a bunch of Hedges out to get us, and all seven of us are flying blind, here. Why make it harder on ourselves if we remember everything tomorrow and realize this was a mistake?"

For a long moment they were silent, just staring at each other. For the first time, Eliot realized that the sounds from the kitchen had stopped, and he wondered how much Josh, Fen, and Margo had heard before they'd decided to make themselves scarce. Finally, Quentin nodded at him, smiling with just a hint of sadness. "You're right, Eliot. We should be focusing on our situation, not - not muddying the waters."

"Don't be mad at me," he said, and felt like a child for it.

Quentin's smile widened, his eyes crinkling together in a way that left Eliot genuinely speechless. "I'm not _mad_ at you," he chuckled. "I'm freaked out about - well, about literally everything? And you felt - you feel - safe. I was trying to cling to that, but you make a good point. We can't just assume..."

Safe. Eliot made Quentin feel safe. The thought of it warmed him immeasurably, even as he fought against the notion of it.

"Okay," he finally said, swallowing hard. "Okay. I'm glad we agree." A part of him, a very large part of him, was screaming inside his head - _you goddamn idiot. He would have let you touch him. He would have let you do anything, you could have felt him, could have had him - _but he ignored it. This had to be what was right. He'd never forgive himself if he ruined things for Quentin and his family, whoever they might be.

And besides, it was self-preservation, too. It would be that much harder to leave Quentin behind if he knew exactly what he was giving up.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time, I made Eliot pine _even while having sex_ somehow. He's a goddamn disaster.

As far as prisons went, the apartment was certainly a lot nicer than the warehouse had been. For one, they all got to take a shower and eat food, and a few of them, thankfully including Alice, even managed to get a couple of hours of sleep eventually. A few of them had tried watching a movie together in the living room, but it was hard to focus when you found yourself remembering the plot and action and even the dialogue of _The Princess Bride_, without remembering when you'd seen it or who you'd been with or bigger, more fundamental things about the very basic nature of your own existence. '_Who am I_?' had always felt like such a bullshit psychological question to Eliot in the past. (Or had it? How the fuck should he know?) But now, it was the reality of his situation, and it made it a lot harder to concentrate on anything else.

And on top of the anxiety-laden boredom that they were all experiencing, Eliot was having to deal with the new strangeness between himself and Quentin. Maybe it wasn't any stranger than it had been from the beginning - he was still pining as hard as ever, but now he knew what Quentin's lips tasted like. More importantly, now he knew that Quentin wanted him just as badly.

It was around 2:30AM before anything changed. Eliot was sitting with Margo on the floor in front of the couch, some forgotten '90s sitcom running a marathon on the TV in front of them. She was curled into his side, dozing, and Eliot wished he could have joined her. He was too busy pretending he wasn't looking at Quentin and Alice, who were seated on the other side of the couch, talking in low whispers to one another. He thought about dislodging Margo and scooting closer to them to try and hear what they were saying, but decided that was one bridge too far, even given the pathetic strength of his yearning.

The somewhat sleepy boredom of the group was interrupted by a loud knock at the door. Kady went to check, and returned with Adam, who appeared to have escaped their last scrape with nothing more than a bizarre looking black gash across his forehead.

He cut straight to the chase this time, telling them that, once again, they'd have to relocate before the actual ritual could place. He had the route mapped for them, this time to the safe-house for Marina's coven. He seemed determined to impress upon them all what an _honor_ it was to be invited into Marina's inner sanctum. And maybe if Eliot could remember Marina, or, you know, remember his own goddamn last name or where he lived or any of the other basic necessities, he'd be more sensible of the privilege.

As it was, the only thing that really stood out to him about this plan was that it was more risk. Eliot couldn't help but look at Alice in concern. Obviously she couldn't remember how far along she was, but Eliot would clock her in at close to eight months, easy. And for all of them, their magic made them targets - Owen's coven, whoever the fuck they were, had already tried to get at them once, on their way to this apartment, and now they were being told to move _again_, to get into position for the final assault.

"You know, I'm getting kind of sick of the run-around," Kady said, as Adam told them they should get moving as soon as possible. "Why are we helping Marina in the first place? Why should we believe that Marina's side should win?"

Adam pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated. He looked exhausted and harried. "Some of this is above my pay grade. It would be a hell of a lot easier if you all could remember your pasts, remember what you've fought for."

"Well, we can't," Alice said. "Give us the highlights."

"Owen's coven, they want to get a monopoly on magic for themselves. They won't be able to get world-wide control with their limited resources, but they _have_ managed to put a stranglehold on the magic in this part of the world, pretty much the entire eastern seaboard, and inland for several hundred miles as well. When the Library tried to pull this shit, you guys were the heroes that stopped it from happening. You don't have to like me, or like Marina, but right now we want the same thing. We don't want any one organization to dictate who gets magic, and how much."

There was silence for a moment. Eliot was having another one of those _knowing_ moments. He didn't like or trust Marina at all, and Adam, while seemingly a nice guy, wasn't someone he felt he could trust blindly either. All that said, he knew he'd been willing to fight for this very same thing before. The specifics were completely unknown to him, but that didn't matter. Magic was meant to exist and be a readily available resource for all. This was a fight he was meant to be fighting.

He looked around the group, and saw general consensus on everyone's faces. But it was Alice who sighed, met Adam's eyes, and nodded. "Okay. So then let's move."

* * *

At first, it seemed like maybe they'd get lucky this time. There were no Hedges waiting to ambush them as they left the apartment. They had been making their way towards Marina's HQ at a brisk but steady pace with nary a care in the world, through the dark and never-quiet streets of the city, for nearly half an hour before the first sign of trouble appeared.

Margo, Fen, and Adam had all gone a bit ahead, Adam keeping a close eye on the two of them given Margo's injury and Fen's lack of magic. Eliot was with Kady and Quentin this time, with Josh and Alice not far off. And then, from behind them - 

"Oi, fuckers!"

Eliot turned around on instinct, both to repel and attack and to protest at the insult, and barely just managed to duck a blast of magical energy headed straight for him.

"Run," Eliot said, oddly calm, and Kady and Quentin both obeyed without question. A quick glance behind him told Eliot that Alice and Josh had just turned the corner, and he hoped for Alice's sake that this would provide adequate cover. He twisted his hands up and out, sending a shield forward to slow down their attackers, then turned and followed. One of the Hedges shot off another spell before Eliot could take more than a few steps, sending a pulse of pain through him head to toe - he managed to keep to his feet and shoot another blocking spell over his shoulder, wincing.

An idea came to him and he pulled deep within the reserve of his telekinetic powers, lifting the two Hedges up off the ground until they were floating several feet in the air. Ignoring his own pain and their shouts of alarm, he shoved them back through the air with all of the force he could muster, slamming them into the back of a building at the other end of the alley. One of them crumpled motionless to the ground, and Eliot hoped in an abstract sort of way that he hadn't just killed him. The other was stirring and groaning, but Eliot didn't have the time to deal with that. He took a few heaving breaths as the pain of the Hedge's earlier spell finally faded, but just then - 

There was a yelp and a thud, and Eliot was running before his brain had even registered where the sound was coming from. He rounded the corner and saw Quentin in hand-to-hand battle with a large, angry looking Hedge, spells shooting between them at a dizzying pace. Kady was staggering a few feet away, trying to get her footing. Quentin was favoring his left arm - had he been hit?

With an instinct born of protective fear, Eliot brought his hands up and slammed them forward, sending the Hedge reeling. He sprinted up and grabbed at Quentin, hands shaking. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Quentin said, breathing hard. He looked up at Eliot, grateful. "Yeah, I'm - " and then his eyes went wide as he saw something behind Eliot's shoulder. "Look out!" he shouted, and he tugged Eliot aside with one hand, as the other came up to block an oncoming slice of magical energy.

Eliot saw it - _felt_ it - when the bolt of energy hit Quentin in the chest.

"Q, _no_!" he made to repel the oncoming Hedge, but Kady had regained control and was already diverting his attention. Vaguely, he heard shouts that he thought belonged to Alice and Josh as they came up to help Kady fight off the two Hedges still standing. He dropped to his knees beside Quentin, who had fallen like a limp rag doll at the attack.

"Oh, God. Oh, God, Quentin, please," he said, frantic and aching. He turned Quentin over and saw him, his beautiful face slack and still.

"_No_," he moaned, reaching forward to feel for a pulse. His hands were shaking too hard, his eyes were filling with tears. This was hell, this was the end of everything, he didn't want to think about what his life was going to look like without the most important, precious part of him by his side, nonononono _no_ \- and then he heard the smallest huff of air from Quentin, the sound of it cutting through the haze of panic pounding its way through his brain. Quentin breathed in audibly, and then, so slowly that Eliot almost didn't believe it, blinked awake, his eyes darting around before falling on Eliot above him.

"Eliot? Are you okay?" His voice was weak and uncertain, but he seemed to be mostly unhurt.

"_Fuck_." The relief was painful in its intensity, sweeping through him like his body was giving him permission to live again. "Thank _God_, Q. You scared me." Without thinking about it, he pulled Quentin up and into his arms, holding him tight for a moment. He blinked rapidly, felt the wetness of tears on his cheeks. "Does anything hurt?"

"No, just - my arm, one of them sliced me," he pulled slightly away from Eliot to show him the limb in question. There was a small slash running from elbow to shoulder. It was bleeding, but it didn't look too deep. Still, the sight of Quentin's blood made Eliot feel ill, and that aching feeling of protectiveness and love filled him again.

"You shouldn't have done that," Eliot said, heart thudding in his temples, his throat, his chest. "You could have been killed."

"He was trying to hurt you," Quentin said, slumping forward and resting his head against Eliot's shoulder, as if this was an adequate explanation. His lips were warm against Eliot's collarbone.

"So what?" Eliot said, voice tight. "I'm not worth it, Quentin, you can't go throwing yourself around like that, not for me."

Behind him, Eliot saw Alice do something complicated and beautiful with her hands, and both of the Hedges dropped, their eyes going blank as they did so. The alley grew quiet, and for a moment Eliot just sat there, with Quentin half in his lap from where Eliot had pulled him in his haste to check him for injury. He had a hand on Quentin's back and was rubbing it up and down.

Quentin sighed, his breath tickling against Eliot's collarbone, and then he tilted his head back, looking up into Eliot's eyes. "Agree to disagree," he said, shrugging. "You seem pretty worth it from my perspective."

"Q," Eliot said, helpless. His hands were still shaking.

"You keep calling me that," Quentin said, his head tilting. "_Q_."

He hadn't realized. Quentin was right - where had that come from? "Sorry, I - "

"No, I like it. It feels... you know... it feels true."

"Yeah," Eliot said, dazed. He ducked forward to press his face into Quentin's shoulder for a moment, seeking equilibrium. "Yeah, it does."

He lifted his head to find Quentin smiling at him, and he felt like his skin was on fire. This was an extremely inappropriate time to make out with someone, right? Just because he was so relieved Quentin was okay that he thought he might pass out, that didn't give him an excuse to maul him in the middle of an alleyway. Clearly. It would be a bad idea. _Very_ bad. His head was moving forward almost without his permission, and Quentin was leaning in, too. But before he could act on his insane impulses, a voice broke in to the moment.

"We've got to keep moving." It was Kady. She and Alice rushed forward, and Kady helped both of them to their feet. Alice was breathing heavily and in sharp, painful-sounding bursts, and Eliot looked at her in concern.

"We're close," Josh called from the end of the street. "Just two more blocks this way."

"Where - " Quentin started to ask, but Kady was tugging him forward.

"It's okay, the others are up ahead."

They reached the building without further incident. From the outside, it looked like an incredibly decrepit shitty apartment building, a serious downgrade from the luxurious digs they'd just departed. But following Adam's instructions, the eight of them made their way up to the third floor, and found a giant suite of rooms, definitely larger than should have been possible given the confines of the building. It was cozy, too, with several large squashy couches arrayed in a large open-plan living space, and a hallway branching off to the right leading to several bedrooms.

"We just sit around and wait again?" Margo asked, inspecting the furniture with a discerning eye.

"It's nearly four in the morning," Adam said, consulting his watch. "There are plenty of empty rooms here, the place is cleared out right now. Everyone else is doing final prep for the ritual this evening. You should all try and get some sleep."

"Like I could sleep right now," Kady said, scoffing, but Eliot wasn't sure he agreed with her. He could still feel the buzz of adrenaline and fear zipping through his veins, but he could also tell he was starting to come down from it. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since they'd all woken up in that warehouse together, and while they'd spent a lot of that time waiting around, they'd also had two separate near-death experiences. 'Tired' would be an understatement for the way he was feeling.

"Let me look at your arm," Alice said to Quentin, and the two of them went into the kitchen together. Eliot already knew it was barely more than a scratch, and felt an uncharitable pang of resentment at Alice for taking Quentin away, for doting on him and checking up on him the way he wanted to be doing. But instead of feeding into that emotion, he bit it back and came to sit down on the couch. Margo was on a chair right across from him, massaging her leg.

"You okay?" he asked her, letting his concern for Margo override his petty feelings of jealousy.

"It hurts like a motherfucker," Margo admitted, "but really it's nothing more than sore muscles and bruising. It slows me down." She said this like _slowing down_ was the greatest affront to her personal brand imaginable, and Eliot had to laugh.

"Could have been so much worse."

"Oh, yeah, sure, could have been some sort of psychic fuckery making me forget my own goddamn name. _That_ would be something awful."

"Margo - "

"If Marina's not completely full of shit, if anything she's told us is true, then I'm a _King_, Eliot. I'm a King and I have a Kingdom and right now not only have I abandoned my throne, but I can't even remember _why_."

"Abandoned is a bit of a harsh word. Clearly you had your reasons."

"But I can't _remember_ them," she said, the words coming out harsh with frustration. "Do you have any idea how hard that is?"

Eliot just raised an eyebrow at her and she sighed, falling back more fully into the chair. "Right. Sorry. I think memory loss makes me a selfish bitch."

"It has that affect on all of us, I wouldn't worry."

She smiled at him, grateful, and then looked over her shoulder to where Fen was sitting, nursing a cup of tea that Josh had handed her. Then she turned back to Eliot, frowning. "So, you and Quentin, huh?"

Eliot grimaced. "I don't want to talk about - "

"Well then you probably shouldn't have been sticking your tongue down his throat in front of other people, genius. Josh almost burned my grilled cheese earlier because he was ogling the two of you."

"Fine," he bit out. "Fine, yeah. Me and Quentin."

"I'm happy for you kids," she said, simpering mockery in every word. But Eliot knew, the way he seemed to know so many unknowable things, that this was Margo's way of offering genuine support.

"I'm not," he said, before he could help himself. "This is all so fucked, Margo. We're both married, and we have _no_ evidence it's to each other."

Margo rolled her eyes. "So what? If you're not actually together, I'm sure your real spouses will forgive you, given the circumstances."

It was probably fucked up that Eliot hadn't given much thought to the potential of his own spouse (ostensibly husband), being out there somewhere. Worried about him. Some faceless, formless human being who Eliot maybe loved and cherished and just couldn't remember at all. It seemed completely impossible to him. Instead, all he could focus on was the other side of the coin.

"What if Quentin's real spouse is _here_?" he said significantly. "What if she's - "

Margo leaned forward in her chair and leveled him with a glare. "Shit's fucked, Eliot. We're all going through the same exact thing. Why wouldn't you make the most of it?" And without giving Eliot a chance to consider an answer, she levered herself awkwardly out of her chair and limped over to Josh, smiling wide.

* * *

And so the waiting game continued. This time around, the exhaustion of the group was all the more palpable, and Eliot could sense that none of them would be able to resist the allure of unconsciousness for long. Still, he was strangely reluctant to leave the living room, and the companionship of these people who offered him the only thing he had of familiarity.

After making a somewhat desultory investigation of the hide-out, and finding no interesting magical books (Marina must keep the good stuff hidden away somewhere), or handy stash of hidden wallets and cell-phones that would help them answer their burning identity questions, he made his way back to the couch and let the impossibilities of this long day-and-a-half sweep over him. He saw Kady, scribbling something on a pad of paper, maybe trying to jog her memory by writing out what she knew. He wondered if she was normally a loner, or if maybe her people, whoever they were, just weren't here right now. Maybe once Kady had her memories back, she'd be a social butterfly. It was kind of hard to picture.

From across the room, Eliot could see Alice and Quentin talking. They looked cozy, their heads tilted close together, but - maybe not like a couple? Eliot couldn't tell anymore if his own extreme biases were getting in the way of an accurate reading, so he turned to Fen, who was sitting next to him on one of the couches, on what must be her third cup of tea.

"Hey Fen..." he said.

"Yes?"

"Do you think - Quentin and Alice?"

"What about them?" she asked, turning to look at them, an adorable line forming between her eyebrows.

"They look like they could be a family," Eliot said. He tried to keep his voice completely even, like this was just an errant observation and not the means of breaking his heart in two.

Fen was silent for a moment, and when Eliot turned to look at her, he met her eyes. She was looking at him intently, studying something in his expression. "I don't know about that," Fen said. "Then again, I suppose none of us really know much of anything for sure."

"Right," Eliot said.

"It could be that he's worried about her. She's really pregnant, you know." Fen had a bluntness about her that Eliot found incredibly endearing.

"We're all worried about her," Eliot said.

"Well, right," Fen agreed. "Exactly. It doesn't have to mean more than that." She took a sip of her tea and made a happy humming sound as the warmth filled her.

"They'd make a good couple," Eliot said. He wasn't really sure why he was saying all of this out loud. It certainly wasn't making him feel any better to put words to the thoughts that had been plaguing him all day.

"Why do you say that?"

"They're both - smart. And... sweet. Sweet and earnest little nerds. I don't know, just... look at them."

"Hmm." Fen sounded skeptical, and Eliot looked back at her again. She was chewing on her lip, contemplative. "Maybe he loves you both," Fen finally said.

The thought made Eliot queasy. He wouldn't have pictured himself as the possessive type, and he certainly wasn't against the idea of polyamory in general, but the idea of it - of Quentin with Eliot _and_ with Alice - just didn't sit right with him. He was missing almost every piece of this puzzle, obviously, but somehow he could tell that Fen was wrong.

"Maybe," he said, instead of explaining any of this to her. "Maybe you love both of _them_." Because that's where the idea had come from, clearly. Margo and Josh were sitting at a dining room table across the room from them. He could see them, their heads bent low in intimate conversation. Fen was staring in their direction as well.

And then she smiled widely. "I think I do, Eliot." The smile faded to something gentler, her eyes still warm on Margo and Josh. "Does that make me crazy?"

"If you're crazy, darling," Eliot said, "then there's no hope at all for the rest of us."

* * *

As Eliot had predicted, it wasn't long before the group started drifting off to find places to sleep. The ritual would be taking place at sunset, and with luck they'd all manage to get a solid few hours of rest between now and then.

The large central room cleared in stages, first Fen and Margo, who left conspicuously together, and then Josh, who followed not long after.

Kady helped Alice do a survey of the room to find the most comfortable bed, and collected pillows from a few of the other rooms so she'd have extra, before finding her way to her own resting place.

And that left them alone again.

For a couple of minutes, Quentin and Eliot were quiet, sitting close but not touching on a couch together. Eliot's fingers were itching to touch him. He was pretty sure that if he did, Quentin would respond. But he didn't know how to bridge the gap from their last conversation, the one where he'd said they _shouldn't_, to this moment now, where he was wondering why he'd bothered pretending to himself that he'd be able to resist.

"Eliot," Quentin said finally. His voice was nearly too loud in the quiet living room. "I - there's a chance we might die tonight. I just don't want to be alone right now."

Eliot's heart contracted painfully. "You're not going to die," he said. He willed that to be true. There was so little that he knew about himself, but he knew for a certainty that losing Quentin would destroy him. "And you're not alone."

He'd told himself this was a bad idea, and he'd had his reasons. But Eliot was evidently a weak-willed man, and all he wanted in the world in this moment was to touch him, to hold him. If they got their memories back and he lost this... well, that was a problem for the future. After what had almost happened to Quentin on their way here, he couldn't say no to him any more than he could stop breathing. And so, when Quentin offered him his hand and pulled him out of the living room, he pushed all thoughts of Alice out of his mind and followed willingly.

Most of the rooms in the hideout were unoccupied. From what Adam had told them, very few people actually lived her permanently, but there were always Hedges coming in and out if they needed a place to lay low. They picked one of the rooms at random, towards the back of the magically enlarged space, and closed the door. The bed was serviceable, a bit smaller than Eliot would have preferred, but comfortable enough. Especially considering that the last thing in the world he wanted right now was _space_ from the person he was about to share it with.

Eliot would have expected to feel frantic and anxious, now that he finally had Quentin alone, on a bed, in the cool dark of a wintery New York pre-dawn. But it wasn't like that - they'd been awake for longer than they could remember (literally), and the pull of exhaustion was heavy on them both. For a while they just lay on the bed together, nose-to-nose, sharing breath, and then Quentin nudged forward, bringing their lips into soft, precious contact.

Eliot hummed against Quentin's lips, bringing a hand around to the back of his neck to play in the strands of his hair. Quentin sighed, his mouth parting, deepening the kiss. They stayed like that for a long time, kissing soft and sweet, but gradually, slowly, the kiss shifted into something thorough, messy, and deep. He wanted to keep doing this for the rest of his life. Quentin had one of his hands up under Eliot's shirt, caressing the skin of his back, and every movement of his hand was sending goosebumps shivering up his spine. He tugged gently, experimentally, at the hair on the nape of Quentin's neck, and was rewarded with a low moan and a determined drag of Quentin's tongue against his own. He tugged again harder, and Quentin gasped, squirming closer.

"I want..." Quentin said, his breath shaky, their lips sliding past each other with the motion of the words.

"Anything," Eliot said. He meant it. Anything. He'd give this man anything he wanted, for the rest of forever.

"I want to feel you."

Eliot pushed at Quentin until he tipped over onto his back, and crawled on top of him. The power of it, of bracketing his arms on either side of Quentin and kissing him deep into the springy mattress - it was heady, like a drug, like the greatest honor and privilege in the world. They shifted until their hips were aligned, Quentin pushing up into him with every breath, until they were both breathing hard, disconnecting their lips to stare at one another in the dim light of the room.

"Up," Quentin said softly, and Eliot obeyed with only slight reluctance, sitting up and letting Quentin pull at the bottom of his shirt, lifting it over his head. Eliot returned the favor, pulling the fitted grey t-shirt he'd been salivating over all day up and over. He tossed the shirt off of the bed, and smiled, wide and delighted, and the messy spectacle of Quentin's hair. He couldn't help himself from reaching up and smoothing it down with his hands, and Quentin turned his face into Eliot's palm, kissing him once on the center of his hand. It was such a shockingly intimate gesture that it froze Eliot for a moment, but then he took a deep breath and bit his lip at Quentin, raking his eyes up and down the newly bare chest in front of him. He saw Quentin doing his own appraisal, clearly appreciative, and felt the warmth of his gaze like a physical touch.

Eliot ran a hand along Quentin's chest, down to his stomach, and lower, cupping Quentin through his jeans. He squirmed, pushing up into the pressure of Eliot's palm for a few moments. "God, that feels - " he started, but then shook his head, biting his lip and taking Eliot's hand away. "Clothes off."

"Yes sir," Eliot said, already far gone enough that he forgot to hide his pathetically shaking hands as he reached for Quentin's belt buckle. They undressed each other quickly, separating reluctantly to tug off the rest of their clothes and throw them haphazardly off the side of the bed before reconnecting, the glory of skin on skin sending fresh shivers through them both. Quentin was a man on a mission now, pushing Eliot where he wanted him, holding him in a sitting position and climbing into his lap. He reconnected their lips, shifted downwards slightly, and -

"_Oh,_" Eliot said, feeling them slide against one another, the pressure somehow way too soft and also so, so, good.

"Yeah, I agree," Quentin said, somewhat nonsensically, and then he pulled back just enough to reach a hand down between their stomachs and wrap it around Eliot. "You're fucking gorgeous, El."

Eliot's breath hitched, some deep, undefinable emotion hitting him square in the chest. He couldn't tell if it was Quentin's hand, now moving on him slowly, with just the right amount of pressure, or the compliment, or, perhaps most of all: the shortened name, _El_, which had fallen from Quentin's lips as natural as breathing.

"You're - " he started, then stopped, alarmed at the tremor in his voice. He slid his own hand down to join Quentin's and returned the favor, feeling a spike of heightened arousal when his first light touch caused Quentin to let out a perfect little moan. "You're beautiful like this, Q."

"With my dick in your hand?" Quentin asked, cheeky but still breathless.

"Sure." Eliot smiled. "Let's go with that."

He lifted his hand away and performed a quick series of tuts, practically on instinct, and felt lube coat his fingers. He brought his hand back down and slicked them both up, then returned to matching Quentin's rhythm.

"So _that_ you remember, then," Quentin said, laughing.

"Only the very important stuff," Eliot said gravely. "My mind is a steel trap for all things decadence and pleasure, apparently."

"Mmm. Lucky me."

Quentin squirmed forward and adjusted his hand slightly, and Eliot did the same, until they'd found a comfortable position. They set a steady rhythm, matching each other's strokes, their breathing falling into natural synchronicity.

There was a part of Eliot that wanted to escalate this quickly. He thought about everything he was dying to do to this man. He wanted to push him firmly into the mattress and slide down his chest, get his mouth around him - and he wanted Quentin to return the favor. He wanted to open him up, to be inside him and never leave. And that was just to start.

But there was something so perfectly tender and lovely about this too, just the simplicity of it, their faces close together, their hands brushing between their stomachs at every stroke. Occasionally one of them dipped forward to join their lips, soft, nearly chaste caresses that somehow made everything happening below the waist feel that much more intimate and _hot_. He wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, neither of them making the move for anything more, but eventually Eliot felt the heat pooling lower in his belly, and realized in an abstract sort of way that if they kept doing this for much longer, he -

Quentin adjusted his grip and tightened slightly around him, and Eliot's bones rattled inside of him.

_Oh, fucking Christ, this was going to kill him._

"Are you close?" Eliot asked, his voice thready and weak.

Quentin let out a laugh that was nearly a groan. "Are you kidding? I've been close since you kissed me on the couch hours ago."

"Fuck," Eliot said, at a complete and utter loss for words. He pressed up into the pressure of Quentin's fist, losing control over the rhythm for a few moments, just chasing the feel of it. "Fuck, you're so - you feel - "

"You too," Quentin said. "You have no fucking idea."

But Eliot did. He had every idea. Did sex normally feel like this? This good? It couldn't possibly, or else why would anybody ever do anything else? He thought about saying this out loud to Quentin and laughed, brushing their noses together.

"Mmm?" Quentin asked him, wordless and intimate.

"I was just - " Eliot said, then broke off and bucked up as Quentin twisted his wrist in a particularly attention-grabbing kind of way - "_Fucking hell, Q._"

"You were saying?"

Eliot blinked a few times, trying to control his breathing, which had turned practically into panting at this point. "I was just thinking that this is the best sex I can remember having." Quentin smiled at him, blinding and angelic, and Eliot continued, already pleased with himself, "But of course by definition it's also the worst - "

Quentin took his other hand, the one that had been tangled in Eliot's hair, and slapped it over Eliot's mouth, giggling. "I could make you regret that, you know."

"Oh yeah? Come at me," Eliot said, nipping at Quentin's fingers as he removed his hand from his mouth.

"I could stop right now," Quentin said, and did for a moment, squeezing around Eliot and then lifting his other hand away. Eliot pitched forward, his face sliding and nuzzling against Quentin's until he had his head buried in his neck.

He kept his own hand around Quentin and started to move it faster in retaliation, relishing in the Q's hitched breath even as he grumbled a complaint into the skin behind his ear. "You're a fucking sadist."

Quentin laughed louder, thrusting up into Eliot's hand, and then took pity on him and put his own back where it _fucking belonged, dammit_ \- 

Eliot lifted his head and smiled at Quentin, relishing in the freedom, the rightness of this - teasing each other during slow, thorough hand jobs, laughter that enhanced the pleasure rather than diminishing it. He opened his mouth, ostensibly to say something devastatingly witty, but Quentin's expression had shifted. The smile on his face, which had been teasing only moments before, had softened to something a lot more real, and whatever Eliot had been about to say next caught in his throat.

Quentin just... stared at him, face flushed, eyes bright, and Eliot could do nothing but stare back, spellbound. It was almost too intense, but Eliot couldn't - _wouldn't_ \- have looked away for anything. He tilted his head down just an inch until their foreheads were touching, and Quentin shuddered, his eyelids flickering a few times like he was struggling to keep them open. He brought their lips together while never faltering the pressure of his hand between them. They kissed for endless minutes, open-mouthed and panting, and then Quentin's breathing changed. He disconnected their lips and met Eliot's eyes again, his own going wide with something close to awe.

The mood had shifted, deepened into something just shy of desperate, and Eliot sped his hand up even further. Quentin followed, matching his rhythm, and Eliot felt his entire body quiver with the need for release. They were both too close now, too close to pull back.

"El. El, God, I - _Eliot_," Quentin whimpered, and the sound shot through him like lightning.

"Yes, Q, c'mon." It was suddenly on the tip of his tongue, he could feel it burning through him, he wanted to say it - _I love you. It's the only true thing, the only thing I know. I love you. I _love_ you_.

"Q," he said instead, rough and urgent. "Q, come on, come on, I want you - I want to feel you - "

"Ungh," Quentin's head tipped forward like he couldn't stand the intensity of eye contact, and Eliot was half regretful, half grateful. He ducked his own head down so they were both buried in each other's shoulders, tightening the pressure of his fist as he did so, tugging quicker, his own knuckles brushing against Quentin's as they moved in rhythm. He could feel moisture leaking from one of them, maybe both, he couldn't be sure. Quentin moaned again, directly into the skin of his neck and then sucked in a quick, sharp breath, and then another, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm gonna - "

"Now, Q, come on, come for me, baby, I - "

Quentin made a sound that was nearly a sob, and jerked up hard and fast into the pressure of Eliot's fist, once, twice, and then went still, choking out desperate little noises as he came, the wetness coating their hands, and Eliot - Eliot -

"Oh, Christ, Q." He shuddered, using his free hand to pull at Quentin's waist, wanting him closer, always closer - he jerked into Quentin's hand, which was still moving at that fast, rhythmic pace, pressing himself into Q's stomach, feeding off of the quiet moans Quentin was still making into his shoulder.

He was right there, right at the edge, he could feel it coming, a sharp, tight feeling inside of him. Quentin twisted his wrist, tightened the pressure. "_F-fuck," _Eliot said, biting down on the skin of Quentin's neck and then laving at the spot with his tongue. Quentin was starting to relax now, his body gone soft and gentle in realized desire. The contrast between his sated warmth and the hard, sharp motion of his hand was devastating, pushing him closer, closer...

"Eliot," Quentin whispered, gentle, his breath warm against his neck. "Eliot, I've got you. I'm here, I've got you, you can let go - "

And Eliot did, biting harder into the spot where Quentin's neck met his shoulder, shuddering and gasping, feeling the wetness spurt up over their hands and onto both of their stomachs - "Oh, God, _God_ \- " - he pulled Q's hand away and pressed forward, toppling Quentin backwards into the bed and rutting against his stomach, letting himself chase the feeling for as long as it would last. Quentin's arms were wrapped tight around him, helping to push their bodies closer together. They were both breathing in high, nearly pained gasps, and it took a fantastically long time for Eliot to come down from the the dizzying heights of orgasm, to look below him and see Quentin looking up, his eyes blown wide and wet with tears.

Eliot shivered, ducking to kiss him again, feeling high from the contact. He levered himself up to keep his weight on his arms and just kept kissing him, swallowing every one of Quentin's contended sighs, then shifting his lips over to lick up the tears that had fallen down his cheeks, as the waves of pleasure finally subsided, leaving his skin tingling from aftershocks.

It took no time at all for the exhaustion to crash over both of them. His hands felt like lead as he tried to cast a simple tut to clean them up, and he had to try it again when the first one didn't take. Quentin pulled weakly at his arms to help shift them up further on the bed so they could rest their heads on the pillows, and they fell asleep like that, naked and entwined, almost before Quentin had managed to pull the blankets up around them.

* * *

When Eliot woke, he couldn't tell at first if mere minutes, or hours, had passed. The room was cool and silent, and he could see bright daylight through the curtains in the otherwise dark room. He felt more contended and rested than should have been possible, given the insane circumstances, and felt he could easily attribute that to the simple fact that Quentin was cradled, soft and safe, in his arms. They'd shifted in their sleep, spooning now, so that Quentin's back was pressed up against Eliot's chest. In the haziness of half-sleep, Eliot felt a soft, gentle pleasure rising and falling, cresting through him, and realized that he had been moving and shifting against Q on instinct. He was about to stop, guilty, when he heard a slight huff of air from Quentin, and felt him push back in response.

"Are you awake?" Eliot asked him, his lips brushing the shell of Quentin's ear.

"Yes."

"Do you want me to stop?" He pushed himself with slightly increased pressure against Quentin, and then trembled when he heard a low, quiet moan in response.

"Don't you dare."

He laughed, but it sounded desperate and broken even to his own ears. He brought a hand around, petting at Quentin's stomach and then reaching lower. He was half hard, and Eliot tightened his hand, pulling on him, his knuckles brushing Quentin's stomach. For a good while they just stayed like that, Quentin undulating slowly between pushing himself up into Eliot's hand, and back against Eliot, where his own need was growing.

"Eliot," Quentin breathed. "How does this feel so good?"

_Because you're mine. Because I'm yours. And_ _this is how it's supposed to be,_ Eliot's brain supplied, and he blinked back the pricking of tears. He couldn't lose this. He _couldn't_. He dropped his lips to the back of Quentin's neck, and then kissed his way up, licking and biting at Quentin's ear. Quentin's breath hitched, and he shoved himself back harder into Eliot.

The energy, which had been slow and gentle, suddenly shifted, like all of the air in the room was being sucked away.

"Fuck," Eliot said, jerking forward, graceless and needy. "Fuck. I want - "

"Yes," Quentin said. "_Please_."

Motherfucking Christ.

"You're - I - God, Q, you're so perfect," Eliot said, astonished, thrusting forward, chasing the deep relief of friction. And he was. It was. All of it, _perfect_. Inside this room, in the dark sanctuary they'd created for themselves, the doubts and fears Eliot had been carrying with him were almost entirely absent. He could live in this moment, live inside Quentin, and very nearly trust that this was real, and that he'd get to keep it.

Eliot took his time preparing Quentin, gratified and slightly amused once again to find that his hands had no trouble tracing out the tuts to give them moisture, and protection. He opened Quentin up on his fingers, using his other hand to stroke him, too slow to give him adequate friction, until Quentin was one long quivering line of want, a continuous low moan sending vibrations through him that Eliot could feel against his chest. He prolonged the moment, ignoring his own need, until Quentin's languorous and pleasure-filled moans took on a tinge of real impatience. "You're a goddamn tease," he finally whispered, and then jerked and groaned when Eliot thrust three fingers into him with precision.

"Am I?" Eliot whispered, the teasing effect ruined when his own voice came out cracked and shaky.

"_El_," Quentin said. "_Now_." The shortened name, the familiarity of that single syllable, sent a bolt through Eliot, just as it had before. He swore, suddenly feverish. He removed his hand from Quentin and stroked himself hard, once, twice - the spike of arousal was intense, dizzying, and he was having trouble remembering now why the hell he'd been _waiting _so long.

_"Q,_" he gasped, lining himself up, his hands shaking, stomach quivering. He pressed in slowly. "Oh, Christ, you feel - "

"Yeah," Quentin said, dazed. "I - yeah." He rolled back against Eliot just as Eliot pushed in and they both froze, groaning. "Okay. Move. _Move_."

He wanted this to go on forever. He wanted it to last, and despite the frenetic pace of his heart and the wrecked, aching sounds Quentin was already making, he forced himself to go slow. To go deep inside of him and stay there, shifting and pressing enough to make them both shiver with it, but not enough to get them too close. His hand was still around Quentin but he kept it still, squeezing occasionally and reveling in the little sighs and gasps falling from Q's lips whenever he did so.

Time was unreal, here, in this moment. He shifted so he was sliding just a few inches in and out, pulsing as deep as he could fit with every line of Quentin's back plastered up against him. Their legs were entwined, Quentin's hair was tickling his face, catching on his lips. They stayed that way for endless minutes, Eliot resting his face in the crook of Quentin's neck. The feeling of it lapped through him like gentle waves, the current growing steadily stronger and stronger the longer he moved in him. It felt indescribable, like nothing he'd ever known - or at least nothing he was able to remember. But he knew this body. He felt it. He knew when Quentin was close, because he could read it in every movement, every sound. He felt it when Quentin's gasps started to go sharp, when his stomach tightened and his toes, resting between Eliot's calves, curled inward. Eliot stopped moving inside of him, and halted the movement of his hand, just in time to stop Quentin from falling over the edge.

"Oh, fuck," Quentin said. "You're gonna kill me." He was breathing in hitches like he was about to start laughing, or sobbing, or both. "You can't imagine how you feel, Eliot."

"Not yet," Eliot breathed. "Not yet. Just. Please. I need you to stay, I need - "

Quentin groaned in frustrated arousal, reaching down to squeeze Eliot's hand where it had come to rest pressed against his sternum. "Okay," he finally managed, shaking. "Yeah, okay, I'm - I'm good, you can move."

"Not until you calm down," Eliot said, strained with the effort of staying still. "I'm not ready for - " _for this to be over. In case I never get it again_. But that was too much, too real, and so Eliot bit down on the words and shoved his face into the back of Quentin's neck, breathing in the smell of him.

He waited until he couldn't stand it, listening to Quentin fight to keep his breathing steady. Both of them were locked and tense, frozen against the instinct to move, their fingers clenched hard together in front of Q, directly over his heart. When Quentin let out a cracked little whimper, Eliot pressed forward without intending it, and then sucked in breath. He couldn't. He needed. He _needed_. He started moving again, slow, so slow it was almost torture.

He could tell Quentin was trying to stay with him in that space, where everything was slow sighs and tender brushes against flesh, molten liquid through veins. But within a couple of minutes his breathing had turned into loud, sharp gasps again. He arched back, pushing harder onto Eliot, and tilted his head back. One of his hands reached around to push at Eliot's head, bring his lips down, almost frantic. The angle was bad but Eliot accepted the kiss greedily, giving in for a second to thrust hard, fast, into Quentin a few times, chasing the pleasure of it through his body. He tried to slow down again, but now Quentin was moaning, one long continuous sound, his voice rough and desperate as he fought to form words - "El, El, I'm gonna - I'm right there, I'm - don't stop, let me - "

And suddenly Eliot was right there too, with absolutely no way of slowing. He dropped his hand back down and found Quentin so hard he was leaking all over his own stomach. He jerked him roughly a few times, his own thrusts becoming erratic and sloppy. "_Fuck_, I'm close, I - Q, can I - "

"Yeah, yes, I want you to - I want - "

"_Fuck_ \- "

They came together, Quentin clamping down on him hard just as Eliot shoved himself in as tight as he would go and pulsed into him, feeling the world explode into a kaleidoscope of color. He was still dizzy with it, barely cresting the peak, when Quentin was pushing him away, and, the second Eliot had slipped out of him, turning around to face him and throwing his arms around him, kissing him deep and searching.

Eliot returned the embrace, the kiss shifting quickly to no more than heavy breathing, their mouths open against each other as they moved, uncoordinated and shaking, each trying to climb his way into the other. After several heart-pounding seconds he opened his eyes to see Quentin staring back at him, face sweaty, eyes wide and pupils blown. He felt a stab of confused, terrified panic run through him.

_We should have done this face to face, _he thought._ We should have - I could have seen his face, I could have kissed him while he came, I need - it's not enough, I need him - _There was just so _much_, so much he wanted, so much he was scared he would never have.

But he saw a small look of uncertainty flit across Quentin's face as he read something in his expression, and he forced the feeling of desperation down, smoothing his features into what he hoped was a peaceful smile. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," Quentin echoed, kissing him again, softer this time. They kept kissing until their heartbeats, pressed against each other, had slowed down, and the breath between their lips came out even and gentle.

"We should try to get some more sleep," Eliot said. He performed the tuts to clean them up, barely lifting his hands from Quentin's skin to do so. They both sighed when they felt the spell take, now dry and warm and comfortably sated.

Quentin looked at him for a long time, a line forming between his eyebrows. Their faces were only inches apart, and in the dim light, Eliot could still see every minute detail of his unfairly gorgeous features. Quentin looked like he was considering whether to say something. But finally he blinked, his lips quirking up just slightly, and sighed. "Okay," he said, and he dropped his head down to Eliot's chest, curled around him, and closed his eyes.

Eliot lay there for a long time, just listening to the sound of Quentin's steady breathing, before he too finally drifted back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, historically I have stayed away from writing both action scenes and sex scenes, and this chapter compelled me to write both. I tried not to agonize over it too much, and I'm pretty happy with the results, but I'll admit that writing this was a little scary for me! For anyone out there who's scared to try something new in a fic, I'd encourage you to just dive in and give it a try. This community is so kind and encouraging so it's a great place to try and develop new skills as a writer!
> 
> Thank you all so, so much for your kind comments on the story thus far!


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much fun writing this! Thank you all for your kind words! I have a few notes on my plans for future fics, if anyone is interested. Feel free to skip to the story if you like!
> 
> 1) I do have some more Curses ideas, but the one that comes next chronologically is extremely dark and angst-y, maybe the darkest of the bunch... and right now I'm not in a great head space for working on it very much. Still, it's coming along piece by piece and I do hope to be able to share it with you!
> 
> 2) I have the beginnings of a possible mosaic-timeline long-fic idea? Very fluffy, a bit more plot-y than I'm used to, but still containing some unavoidable angst elements because let's be real I know myself. It's been a very long time since I've actually written anything very long-form, and this idea would potentially need to be novel-length in order to really work, so don't hold your breath. I'm still in the idea-germinating stage with this one, but it's a possibility!
> 
> 3) I really enjoyed doing the one-shot "Promises" that I just put up yesterday. I'm thinking of doing other similar things, little canon-divergence moments that make Q and El sort out their shit BEFORE everything goes irreparably sideways. We'll see if I can knock together some additional short stories in that kind of style.
> 
> Again, thank you all so, so much for all of your support - this is the most fun I've ever had in any fandom. It really means the world to me how much we all support each other.
> 
> Read on for the promised happiness for all!

By mid-afternoon, the seven of them had re-converged in the central living space. Eliot noted that Margo, Josh, and Fen seemed to have no shame whatsoever about emerging from the same bedroom, and he had to smile slightly at the smug, sated expression on Margo's face. He wished he could share in her calm satisfaction.

What had happened between him and Quentin was something he could never, ever regret. When they'd woken up tangled together for the second time, Quentin had kissed him, lazy and soft, and then rolled up to collect his clothes from the floor and started to dress, like waking up this way was a regular occurrence. In that moment, Eliot had nearly said something stupid, nearly told him that they should be together. Fuckreality, fuck everything else - if they remembered who they were a day from now, what did it really matter? Because nothing could be as good as this - nothing could feel as right.

But of course he didn't say that. He couldn't. Because as much as he'd never regret what had happened, he knew Quentin very well _might, _and he wasn't about to hold him to anything.

"Adam left us a note," Kady said as Eliot wandered into the kitchen. She nodded her head at a piece of paper on the counter. "He must have stopped by when we were all asleep."

"And a pot of coffee? Damn, I knew I liked that guy," Josh said, making for the fresh pot still steaming next to the note.

"_I_ made that," Kady said, rolling her eyes. But she nevertheless handed Josh a mug from the cabinet behind her.

"What does the note say?" Fen asked, yawning and accepting the filled mug from Josh with a pink-faced smile.

"Gives us an address and a time," Kady said, handing the note to Eliot, who glanced at it and then passed it on until they'd all read it.

"So we should probably leave in an hour, then," Margo said, reaching behind her to grab at her ankle as she stretched her undoubtedly still sore leg.

"Anybody feel like breakfast?" Josh asked.

"It's two o'clock in the afternoon," Alice pointed out.

"And?"

"And, _yes_," Alice said, smiling at him. "The baby wants pancakes."

* * *

Apparently they were due for some good luck, because their trip to the park where Marina and her coven were to meet them went off without incident. Eliot spent the whole time indecisive about who he should be hovering over - they all felt protective of Alice, for obvious reasons, but his heart leaped into his throat every time Quentin or Margo got too far away from him in their loose clump of travel.

When they arrived, they saw a suspiciously empty field of grass with little gatherings of trees arranged artfully throughout. "Why is it so empty?" Fen asked, echoing Eliot's thoughts.

"Magic," Alice said. "I can sense it - Marina must have done something to repel people from this spot. If you don't have magic, it would probably be difficult to come here right now."

Right. That had been part of the plan. Or it sounded like it might have been, anyway. There it was again, that uncomfortable sensation of _knowing_ without _remembering_.

Marina and Adam were both waiting for them near a park bench, onto which Alice gratefully sank.

"Everything go okay on your way here?" Adam asked.

"You must have been our bad luck charm," Margo said. "First time in the last two days I've walked down a street without being attacked."

Adam smiled at her, and Marina, clearly already impatient with the small-talk, stood up straight and put her hands on her hips to command their attention.

"We're finishing the last couple of arrangements right now," she said. "As for you all - you should take a moment to decide who's going to go where. It would be great to have all of you as close by as possible, of course. You're a bunch of untapped batteries for the spell."

"Alice can't be in the middle of all of this," Quentin said.

Eliot looked at Alice, who was frowning. "No," she said. "No, I don't suppose I should. But - " she cut herself off, looking frustrated. "I still want to be close by, I don't feel good about leaving you all."

"Alice is one of the biggest magical bad-asses here," Adam said, giving her a smile. "If we keep you nearby, close enough that we can access your magic, you'll still be a big help."

"But someone should stay with her," Kady said. "Just as backup."

"I can defend myself," Alice said.

"Sure, but nobody should be alone during all of this," Margo said. "Kady's right."

Something cold was expanding inside Eliot's stomach, and he sighed, closing his eyes before speaking. "I think you should stay with her, Quentin."

There was silence for a moment, as the rest of the group all stared at Eliot. "Why?" Quentin finally said. He glanced at Alice and then back to Eliot. "Not that I don't want to help her, but why me?"

"It's just - it makes the most sense," Eliot said.

"Why?" This time Alice and Quentin spoke together. So in sync. It was annoying, and also maybe heartbreaking. Fuck.

"I don't - just - _because_ \- " Eliot sputtered.

Quentin narrowed his eyes at Eliot, and then turned to look at the rest of the group for a moment. "Will you excuse us for a moment?" he grabbed Eliot's arm and started tugging him a short distance away.

"No problem, you two take all the time you want for your weird interpersonal drama," Marina said, waving sweetly at them. "I'll just be over here telling the game-plan to the adults."

Quentin ignored her and tugged harder on Eliot, who followed him, feeling queasy. It was dawning on him that he may have just trapped himself into a supremely uncomfortable conversation.

When they were a good distance away from the others, Quentin whirled on him, repeating his question. "_Why_, Eliot?"

"Somebody has to - "

"Why me? Is this some bid to keep me away from the worst of the fighting? Keep me safe? Because you're no less likely to get hurt than I am, and I don't appreciate being treated like a child."

Eliot blinked at him. Honestly, that angle hadn't occurred. It was undeniably appealing, the thought of Quentin away from the worst of it, safe from the horrors of battle. He could still feel the clench of fear in his gut from when Quentin had been hit by a spell earlier, that blinding moment of panic and pain that had nearly ended him where he stood. But he shook his head, willing Quentin to understand. "It's not about that. I'm not trying to keep you away from the fighting."

"Then what?" Quentin said, exasperated.

"Because - because, Quentin, I think..." he almost couldn't say it. The words were catching in his throat.

"Fucking _what_?!"

"Alice needs someone to - "

"It could be anyone, Eliot, it doesn't have to - "

"_Because I think that might be your baby, okay?_!"

He'd spoken louder than he meant to. In the ringing silence that followed, Eliot just hoped that the group they'd left not thirty yards away hadn't heard him.

"You - you are _unbelievable_." Quentin was looking at him like he was crazy.

"Quentin..."

"Jesus Christ, Eliot, after everything that's happened, are you seriously telling me you think I'm married to someone else? You think I'm having a kid with Alice?"

The certainty in Quentin's voice, that utter belief, that they must be married to one another, that it couldn't possibly be anyone else for either of them... Eliot wanted so badly to sink into it. To believe it. But despite Quentin's confidence, he didn't know. He didn't know any better than Eliot did. He couldn't really be sure.

"Look, just - just listen to me for a second. I'm not trying to deny that there's something between us." _Understatement of the fucking year, you goddamn coward_, Eliot's brain helpfully supplied.

Quentin seemed to agree with the unspoken thought. He scoffed and crossed his arms, his lips pressed tight together in anger. Eliot spoke on, willing his voice to stop trembling. "But if you're going to trust in your instincts, you can't pick and choose which ones to ignore. Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me you feel nothing when you look at her?"

Quentin let air out through his nose and closed his eyes, tipping his head up like he was praying for patience. "I feel plenty of things when I look at her. I feel protective, and fond, and happy. I like her. I think maybe I love her, Eliot."

Okay, ouch. Fucking ouch. Eliot tried to keep his face blank, but Quentin wasn't done speaking - "but you know, it's possible to love someone, and want to protect their _unborn baby from harm_, without being married to them."

"Quentin, I want... I want to believe you."

"Do you want _me_?"

Eliot blinked at him. "Do I - _what? _What kind of stupid question is that?"

Quentin just glared at him, and Eliot could see the slightest tremor in his jaw.

"Of course I do," he finally answered. "You were there, you know I want you. How could you not know - "

"But you still think I'm kidding myself about us. Being together, I mean. For real."

Eliot squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, wondering how the hell this conversation had gotten away from him. "I'm not built for blind faith like that, Quentin. I've already done more than I should have. I've already been weak, I've touched you, I've tasted you, and it was goddamn perfect, and I can't - I can't, okay? It'll hurt too much." _It already hurts too much_.

That horrible, horrible expression was back on Quentin's face, the familiar posture of rejection, but this time, there was a much heftier mix of anger apparent. "Fine," Quentin said, through clenched teeth. "You can think what you want. But I'm going in there with the rest of you. I won't sit on the sidelines."

He spun to walk away, and Eliot reached out and grabbed for his wrist. "Wait."

Quentin stopped, sighed, and turned around, his shoulders slumping. "This is getting to be a habit of yours." He looked down at where Eliot had grabbed at him. There was something tired, but still fond, in his voice now.

"Q," Eliot said, his voice soft and trembling. He dropped Quentin's wrist and took a small step closer. "Q, I'm scared, don't you get that?"

"You think I'm not?"

"I just - I can't do this, I can't go into this fight knowing you're mad at me."

Quentin's shoulders drooped even further. "I'm not mad. I'm - you're right, we can't know for sure. There's no reason why we shouldn't wait, and find out when we all get our memories back." Once again, he was smiling at Eliot in that awful, sad way, and Eliot felt like he'd failed a test. He knew what Quentin wanted. He wanted Eliot's faith. In them, in the love they felt between them. He wanted Eliot to put aside his feelings of inadequacy, and trust that Quentin knew his own mind.

Maybe it was a small distinction, in the grand scheme of things. If he remembered his life tomorrow, and Quentin was his husband, then what did it matter if he didn't quite believe it right now?

But that was bullshit, and he knew it.

"No, we can't know," Eliot said, slow and careful. And then, for Quentin, he tried to be brave. He took a shaky breath, and stepped closer. "But I do know that here and now, you're everything I want." He kissed him, feather light, the pressure of those warm lips against him almost unbearably sweet. He stepped away, and looked down, falling into the warmth of Quentin's eyes.

They just looked at each other for an endless moment, until -

"Hey, assholes!" It was Margo. "Feel like joining the strategy session?"

Quentin and Eliot held eye-contact for one more moment, and then Quentin swallowed and nodded, reaching a hand out and touching Eliot on the arm briefly. Forgiveness, at least. Maybe more. Eliot tried to smile at him and wasn't sure he managed it.

"While you two were having your charming little lover's spat, we mapped things out," Margo said as they rejoined the group. "Fen is going to stay back with Alice."

"I may not know any magic, but I'm a fair hand with a dagger," she said, pulling the one she'd been given by Adam out of a sheath strapped to her thigh.

"Where'd the holster come from?" Eliot asked. It was kind of hot.

Fen smiled at him. "Marina loaned it to me. I guess I had a knife of my own before our memories got wiped, but I must have dropped it before the warehouse." She shrugged. "Or maybe I threw it at someone and didn't have time to get it back."

"Marina and Adam left?" Quentin asked, looking around and brushing past the whole idea of Fen chucking daggers at people.

"They're setting up the circle, Marina just finished telling us the plan," Alice said. "Or, the gist of it anyway. I guess her witches are hidden nearby, they'll get into place at the last moment." She paused, swallowing, and looked straight at Quentin. "And they have a talisman, a _human_ talisman. Someone who's a vessel for magic but has none of her own."

Eliot looked at her, curious. Her voice was wobbling. With - what? Fear? Was she scared for herself, for the baby? That was understandable. But there was something more in her voice, something undefinable.

"Who?" Quentin asked, and the weirdness was there in his voice too. "Alice - did Marina say who the... the _vessel_ was?" She shook her head, and then the two of them just looked at each other, wide-eyed, an undefined connection linking them, while Eliot steadfastly ignored his own hammering, bruised heart inside his chest.

"She didn't say," Alice finally said, breaking eye-contact with Quentin. "She explained the spell to us, though. It's not entirely clear to me how this all works, but essentially, Owen created some sort of filter that catches ambient magic and funnels it directly to him and his coven. He's been expanding it, consolidating more and more for himself, all while preaching some bullshit anti-establishment rhetoric."

Kady frowned at her. "The anti-establishment part isn't bullshit, it's just the hoarding thing that we should be objecting to."

Eliot felt another one of those lurches of familiarity, and it almost made him smile. He had the feeling that these two had been arguing about this very topic for a long time.

Alice waved a hand at Kady, pressing on. "The spell that Marina's coven is doing, it's hugely complex, and cooperative, and requires this vessel person, whoever they are, and the flower from Fillory, and a bunch of other circumstances and components that it must have taken them forever to gather. I guess we helped with some of them, we just can't remember. If it works, then Owen's filter will be dispelled, and magic will start to move through the environment in its natural patterns."

"Restoring balance," Quentin said, nodding in approval.

"Exactly," Alice agreed.

"So there are just two objectives here," Kady said. "One, stay close to the ritual circle, so they can access our magical signatures and use them to fuel the spell. And two, repel Owen's coven when they inevitably show up to try and stop us."

"And three," Eliot said, staring straight at Quentin. "Don't die." Quentin gave him another half-smile. There was a shadow of wariness in his eyes, and Eliot knew he was still feeling off-kilter and uncertain about where they stood with each other. Eliot felt the same, but there wasn't really time to hash it out anymore. They knew how they felt about each other; only time would tell the rest.

He flicked his eyes reluctantly away from Quentin and over the rest of the group, and saw looks of grim determination on every face.

"Who's ready to kick some ass?" Margo said, pumping a fist in the air like a cheerleader. And then, bouncing on her feet: "Let's Go Team Amnesia!"

"Rah, rah," Quentin deadpanned.

* * *

"Will I jinx it if I point out that it's possible Owen's people don't show up?" Margo whispered. They were all standing just inside the shadow of a copse of trees, watching as a line of figures, Marina's coven, darted out from under cover opposite them and arranged themselves in a circle. Several of them were carrying bowls containing who knew what, and a few had strange metal instruments, which they stabbed down into the grassy field at clearly pre-determined spots, creating some sort of anchor for the dispelling ritual they were about to attempt. A few of them didn't join the circle, beginning a prowl around the outside, and forming a line of defense.

'Team Amnesia' (Margo was ridiculous and Eliot _loved_ her) were meant to wait until signs of trouble to emerge and join in with the fighting.

"I don't know if I believe in jinxes," Josh said.

"Yeah, sounds pretty far fetched," Quentin quipped. He met Eliot's eye and they smiled at one another, still somehow shy even after everything.

Eliot opened his mouth to join in the banter, wanting the apparent normalcy of it to carry away some of his anxiety, but -

"Oh, shit, here we go," Kady said in a loud whisper.

Marina's Hedge Witches had started their chant, their hands moving in a hypnotizing, synchronized pattern. There was a hazy aura of magic around them, being pulled from the very air. From this distance, Eliot could just make out one figure in the circle whose hands weren't moving, just lying still, hands pressed against the ground. It looked like a woman with long hair, but he couldn't tell much more than that. The aura of magic floating above all of the witches had a current, and the current was swirling closer and closer around the head of this singular motionless figure.

"The vessel," Eliot said, nodding his head to draw the others' attention. "That must be her."

"Looks like," Kady agreed. And then, again - "Oh, _shit_."

And this time, she wasn't talking about the ritual. There were so many of them - dozens of dark figures, pouring out of the night like they'd been waiting for a signal. Eliot scanned them, searching the malevolent crowd for any sort of spark of familiarity, but felt nothing. As far as he could tell, he didn't know these people. Was that enough for him to go on? Was his lack of familiarity really incentive enough to fight these strangers to the death, over a plan and a mission he only barely understood, and could never fully trust? A few of the figures raised their hands and started to twist them around, already casting, and the members of Marina's coven who hadn't joined in with the circle were throwing up shields.

"Go, go, go!" Margo hissed, and she darted forward, quicker than Eliot would have thought, given that her leg must still be killing her. Kady and Josh quickly followed and Quentin -

"Don't die," Quentin said to him fiercely, grabbing his face between his hands. "That goes for you, too. Do you hear me?"

He nodded, gripping back at Quentin. Alice and Fen were both just feet behind them in trees, but in that particular moment, he didn't care - he pressed forward and kissed Quentin once, hard, and then Quentin pulled away, following after the others to join in the fight that was already breaking out.

And so Eliot's decision was made for him. He broke into a run.

* * *

The fighting was all around them, and Eliot could feel his control slipping away. His instincts were lurching all over the place. He defended the circle of casters, repelling any Hedge that came too close, but found himself afraid of going for the kill. Everything was happening so fast, and any semblance of order with which the battle had started had quickly vanished. There were Hedges from Marina's coven mixed in with this roiling, violent crowd, and he had no reliable way of telling friend from foe.

On top of that, his heart was in his throat with fear and anxiety for the others. He tried to keep them all in his sights, all of these people that he knew, deep down, he loved and must protect, but as soon as he got Quentin in his sights, he'd lose track of Margo, and then in spinning to find her he'd bump straight into Josh, and lose track of everyone else.

Luckily, Eliot and his friends only had one job, and that job was to keep everyone away from the chanter's circle in the center of the grass. That was the goal of all of this. That was why Marina had needed the magical glowing flower, and the magic-null human vessel, and all of the rest of it. Whatever they were doing would stop Owen's coven from stealing the magic away from the other magical denizens of New York. Eliot felt a flash of remembering, or something similar, and _knew_ in a way that he hadn't before, that the original plan had included him and the others being a _part_ of that circle. They were meant to be casting the complex cooperative spell along with the Hedges of Marina's coven, meant to be adding their strength to the spell. That's why they had to be there. Because even though they didn't have time to re-learn the spell, their magic and energy would help shore up the casters. He felt that this was true, even if, frustratingly, he still couldn't _remember_ it.

He spun away from the circle of casters just in time to block a spell from an oncoming Hedge, his head on a swivel. He'd been looking at the circle of witches for too long and now he'd lost sight of _everyone_. Where was Margo? Where was Quentin? What if -

His eyes were caught by one of the casters sitting on the side of the circle farthest from him. A Hedge, presumably one of Owen's, had broken through the guard of Marina's forces on the other side. Josh was supposed to be over there, and Eliot felt a spike of panic for him before he saw that he'd simply been distracted by a Hedge coming from the other direction - there were too many of them to be contained easily. Eliot shot off a spell and knocked the Hedge back, and then watched with slightly horrified satisfaction as Kady twisted her hands up and out, snapping the man's neck. Just as he was turning away from the circle to continue his guard and find his friends in the crowd, he noticed the woman again, the witch who had nearly been attacked from behind, without even knowing it.

It was the vessel, the one who wasn't casting. And...there was something about her - she wasn't a Hedge Witch.

How... How had he known that?

He was close enough to the circle that he could see her fairly clearly in the setting sunlight. She had heavy eyelids and a pouty mouth, a tight, tiny body and long, wavy dark hair. She was sitting in the circle with all of the witches, chanting in tandem with them, but she wasn't moving her hands like the rest of them. She wasn't actually casting magic. What had made him notice her? Just that she wasn't casting? Or was it the lack of tattoos adorning her bare arms? Whatever it was, Eliot knew for a certainty that she wasn't one of Marina's coven.

Someone bumped into him and he spun around in time to catch Alice, who was staring in the same direction he had just been looking.

"_Alice_," he hissed, outraged. "You're supposed to be staying back!"

"I know, I just - who is that?" she said, her voice wavering and small.

"What?"

"That woman, I - I think I know her."

"Alice, this is incredibly dangerous," Eliot said. "Come on, let's get you back to Fen - "

Someone behind them let out a loud yell, and Eliot saw an unfamiliar face contort in fury. "We're supposed to be _stopping them_ \- " the man yelled, red-faced, and he spun around to find a target. He shot off a spell at Quentin, who was nearby, but Eliot had barely had a chance to be frightened for him before Q put up a shield spell and deflected it, shoving the energy back at his attacker and knocking him off balance.

Marina was there to pick up on the advantage, having left her spot in the circle - "Well well well, Owen," she said, icy and triumphant. "Good of you to show up in person."

Owen snarled and lashed out, and Marina barely avoided a bolt of energy that looked serious. Another of Owen's coven appeared, and then it was two-on-one, Marina facing them down with determination. Quentin, fighting just a few yards beyond, was tied up going hand-to-hand with another Hedge. Eliot wanted to help him, wanted to help Marina too, but he had to focus on -

"Alice? Alice - _Fuck_." He spun around, and saw her heading around the perimeter of the circle, ducking low to avoid spells flying over her head. She was working towards the side of the circle where the familiar woman was sitting, and Eliot cursed and made to follow her. She was so far away, and she was so breathtakingly _unprotected_ -

Two of Owen's witches seemed to zero in on Alice as a vulnerable target all at the same time. Eliot, wasting precious seconds knocking another faceless Hedge out of the way, brought his hands up to try and cast, but he could already tell that he'd be too late -

Alice spun around so fast that she almost toppled over, bringing her hands up. She deflected one of the Hedge's oncoming attacks, but the other one - the other one was right there, his hands already raised, a ball of light forming on his palm -

"Oh, _fuck_ no," Eliot yelled, running as fast as he could. He could taste it, he wasn't going to make it, he was going to be helpless, and Alice was going to -

A bolt of pure energy hit the attacking Hedge Witch straight in the chest, and he toppled to the ground, smoke rising from a hole right over his heart. Alice gasped and turned to look for her savior just as Eliot reached her finally, grabbing at her to reassure himself she'd really escaped harm - they both turned in time to see the vessel, that oddly familiar brunette, rise from the witch's circle, her hands held out in front of her.

And by _rise_, Eliot meant _float_. The woman was flying through the air on a wave of pure magical energy, her hands moving in intricate, breathtaking patterns, too complex and quick for Eliot to follow. She slammed her palms together and then threw her arms wide, all while hovering high enough to pass straight over the heads of the rest of the circle.

Beneath the thrumming of panic and awe in his head, Eliot could hear the chanting in the circle continue, reaching a crescendo - several of the casters had had to abandon their posts to join in with the defensive, but it seemed their combined efforts were still going to be enough.

The spell was almost over, they only had a few more repetitions to go, Eliot knew. He'd had the specifics of this ritual pounded into his head over weeks of practice; he'd complained about it to Q, tried to play hooky from study sessions with Margo, and made fun of Alice for making flashcards. He'd pretended to roll his eyes at Alice and Julia's tender farewells, as Julia went under heavy protection to undergo the extensive magical prep-work involved in being a vessel for the ritual, and had courageously refrained from mocking Quentin for his bright-eyed and tender fascination with the little creature inside of Alice, kicking against his hand.

Julia looked beautiful and terrifying, her hands spinning in circles and sending waves of energy out from her palms. Hedge Witches everywhere were crying out and falling to their knees. She seemed to be able to target only Owen's coven, too, which was all kinds of impressive. Then again, Julia had always been an utter genius with this kind of thing, with or without her magic. Eliot grabbed Alice by the arm and pulled her away, giving Julia space to work, and it was only then that it hit him -

"Julia," Alice said, a note of wonder and disbelief in her voice.

\- he _remembered_.

* * *

It was over quickly after that. The ritual completed in one final swell of cooperative magic, a heady sensation of shared power that swept up and out and broke through Owen's invisible filter, rending a hole in the wall he had attempted to put between the area's magicians and the source of their power.

And Julia was there to take care of anybody who had any crazy ideas about continuing to fight. She was goddamn stunning in the full sweep of power, but Eliot didn't have the brainpower to process it, because as the battle died down around him, only one thing truly mattered: _he was Eliot Waugh and he remembered that_. 

The headache had started to come back, the same one he'd felt just before opening his eyes and finding himself in a warehouse with a bunch of strangers. It was bright, and hot, and exploding out of him like a supernova.

It wasn't like recalling something he'd momentarily forgotten, there was no process to it, no gentle realization like waking from a dream. Instead, it was an onslaught.

His brain tried to grab on to something and focus on it, something simple like his full name - but then a memory of his childhood would come barreling out of nowhere and send his mind scrambling. He remembered the first party he and Margo threw at Brakebills, remembered the trials and his time at Brakebills South. He remembered Arielle, he remembered Teddy, the mosaic, growing old, and then he remembered meeting Margo and then he remembered being banished from Fillory, but after that he remembered becoming _king_ of Fillory, Quentin smiling down on him with a crown in his hands - everything was spinning and out of order.

He remembered breaking his wrist when he was eight years old and then he remembered his wedding to Fen, remembered waking up from possession in the hospital and _then_ remembered shooting the monster to save Quentin, remembered being a kid and learning about magic, the trauma and elation in equal measure, remembered bursting into song as he made his way to an honest-to-goodness-_duel_ for the future of his kingdom...

\- and then, then, _then - _

Quentin kissing him on the mosaic, and their wedding day, their wedding _night_, _Godfuckdamnholy_christ_, Quentin -_ and then backwards, to the sight of Q dying from a curse for which Eliot was the only cure, and back to the beginning, seeing him for the first time, that helpless boy stumbling over the Brakebills lawn, and more, and more, the memories blending and out of sequence, until he gasped out a breath and found himself, more or less, in possession of himself.

"Quentin," he said, as soon as his bleary vision had come into focus. His throat was hoarse like he'd been screaming, and the headache wasn't entirely gone. He was still getting these little waves of sensation and memory, washing over him like the tide. "_Quentin_." Where was he?

He blinked again, willing the park to come into focus in the dusky light. There were shapes all around him, the familiar ones of his friends and family, and the less familiar ones of Marina's Hedges, all rushing to and fro, looking for one another, checking for injury, celebrating their victory. He caught sight of Josh, who was doubled over, and then Fen, who was crying in Margo's arms, and then -

"Alice!" He heard Julia's cry, and looked around to see her land on the ground, the glow around her dissipating as suddenly as it had appeared. She rushed forward and Alice's arms went up to meet her. "Oh, God, Alice!"

"Jules," Alice gasped. "I couldn't remember, I knew someone was missing. God, I was so worried about you."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I wanted to be there, but - "

"No, no, you couldn't, that's okay, I remember now, I'm okay, but - "

"Allie, I did _magic_, did you see that?"

"I saw! _How_? Was it the ritual? Did it - "

"No, no, it wasn't that - it was - you, and the baby, they were trying to hurt you and I just - "

"That's so fascinating, though, because people say that dormant magic is usually triggered when - "

"Right, but I think there's precedent for this sort of thing, because - "

Eliot smiled at them, feeling alarmingly close to tears. A part of Eliot wanted to keep watching them, experience their joy and relief for himself, but there was still a sharp spike of fear lancing through his chest. He was happy for the nerdy little family in front of him, but where the hell was _his_ nerdy little -

"Eliot!"

He spun around, and at first he couldn't see anything, but then one of Marina's Hedges moved out of the way and there he was - Q, standing there staring at him with his jaw open in shock.

Eliot took a few shaky steps forward, feeling punch-drunk and achy, and Q snapped out of his shock and met him half way, barreling into him with intensity. "Eliot. El, El, oh my God."

"Fuck. Oh, _fuck_, Quentin," Eliot said, all eloquence gone from him. He gripped Quentin tight as the memories continued to smash into him like waves.

Q. Quentin Makepeace Coldwater, his husband.

Quentin's arms were so tight around him it was almost hard to breathe, but Eliot wouldn't have pulled away for the world. He was holding Q just as tightly, afraid to ease up even for a moment. Eliot needed to be kissing him - his _husband_, oh _God - _right the fuck now. Q was right there with him, yanking Eliot's head forward and down and crushing their lips together.

Eliot groaned into the kiss, tightening his hands in Q's hair, pressing his tongue deep into his mouth. He tasted so fucking _good_, he tasted like _Quentin -_ how had he forgotten the power of this, the _necessity_ of it, for even one moment? How could he have thought there was any universe in which he could live without it? He was vaguely aware that they weren't alone in the park but he didn't care, nobody was bothering them. Eliot slid one hand down from the back of Q's neck to tighten around his waist, pulling them flush together, their mouths sliding over each other with utter abandon.

"I love you," Quentin sobbed, their mouths still pressed together, their breathing harsh and loud in the crisp evening air. Eliot could feel Quentin's heartbeat against his own.

"I love you, Q, _God_ I love you," Eliot repeated helplessly, his eyes fluttering closed. He was tilting forward into Quentin, pushed by more than gravity. He was only just aware enough of his surroundings to know he couldn't actually tumble with Quentin to the ground and tear Q's clothes off and -

"I need you," Quentin said. "I need you, El, I - "

"Fucking Christ, Q, you're gonna kill me," Eliot said, kissing him again, rough and dirty. "I wanted you so much, Q. I wanted you and I didn't even _remember_ \- "

"Yeah, _yes_, I know," Quentin said, his voice deeper and more gravelly than usual. "I was so terrified but I knew I - I _knew_ I loved you, I knew it - "

"Me too, me too, baby," Eliot said. His own voice had gone high and sharp, and he could feel tears building behind his eyes. He squeezed them tightly shut, keeping a tight grip on Q and holding them close to each other, their foreheads pressed together, their mouths breathing in each others' air. But right alongside his overwhelming relief, Eliot felt a coiling of guilt in his gut as he started to fully appreciate everything that had happened over the past two days.

"Q, I'm sorry - " he started, but Quentin shook his head, rubbing their foreheads and noses together.

"Shut up, it doesn't matter - "

"It does," Eliot said, but Quentin was kissing him almost before he could get the words out, another deep, filthy kiss that made his hands shake and his toes curl.

"I want you," Quentin said, fervent, as he pulled slightly back. "God, I feel like I haven't touched you in years, I feel - "

"_Quentin_," a voice shouted, and Quentin jerked away, startled, like he'd actually forgotten where they were. Eliot really didn't want to let go of him, but Julia didn't give him much of a choice, rushing forward and throwing her tiny arms around both of them. They separated with just enough time to catch her between them, and the three of them hugged for a moment before Eliot slipped away and let Julia squeeze Q so hard that he could see the muscles of her arms straining. Q turned his head to meet Eliot's eyes for a moment, over Julia's shoulder. They were still burning with desperate love, and Eliot swallowed, feeling dizzy with it, even as Quentin turned his attention fully to Julia.

"Jules, thank God," he said, his eyes squeezing shut. "Alice and I were both so worried, we couldn't figure out - "

"I know," she said, "I know, I know. God, I can't even imagine..."

He was staring at them, his heart aching and loving and overflowing. He hadn't remembered Julia, so he hadn't been missing her, or at least not that he was consciously aware of. But now, the relief of knowing she was okay was piling on top of all of his other emotions, so intense that he felt battered by an onslaught of grateful feeling. As he watched Quentin hug his best friend, he felt an ache for his own. He turned, seeking Margo in the crowd, and there she was, running at him full-tilt with a huge grin on her face.

"You _cock_," Margo said, cackling with glee. She threw her arms around him and Eliot pulled her in tight. "I can't believe you spent the whole forty-eight hours mooning over Quentin! Didn't you feel the tug of destiny, joining us together as the soulmates that we are?"

"Oh you're one to talk, Bambi!" he said, kissing her forehead and squeezing her tighter. "You and Hoberman were just hovering over Fen like a couple of over-solicitous mother hens. Q and I were debating which one of you was going to win her in the end."

"I am not a prize to be won!" Fen said imperiously, coming up behind the two of them, but then she ruined the effect by giggling and throwing herself on Eliot. "It's so good to see you, Eliot."

"This is so _weird_," Josh said, walking up to the group and pressing a kiss against Margo's temple. "I feel like I haven't seen you in forever, but we've been together the whole time."

"Is everyone okay?" Eliot asked. "Kady?"

Josh nodded. "Yeah, I saw her over there talking to Marina."

"_Yelling _at Marina, more like," Margo said. "Those two have got a grudge that transcends memory loss."

"Think they should bang it out?" Josh asked, and Fen giggled at him.

Eliot looked over the crowd and saw that Josh was right, Marina and Kady were standing nose to nose, gesticulating wildly and arguing about something or other. Eliot was too exhausted to care much about the specifics. "It might be out of character for me to say this, but I don't actually think every solution can be solved by fucking someone."

Margo gasped at him. "Sacrilege! Quentin has _tamed_ you, El. I'm going to have to have a talk with that boy."

"How did the memory curse break, anyway?" Eliot said. He could remember it now, of course, how it had all started - the seven of them walking through the streets back towards Kady's apartment, completely unsuspecting, after a meeting with some of the Hedges about the ritual. And then, the sudden awareness that they were being followed. They'd run, all of them trying to shield Alice, looking for a place to hide - they'd gotten into the warehouse that Marina had told them about, sealed up the wards, and then - pain, a splitting headache, everything that made Eliot who he was being ripped out of him -

He shuddered, focusing on his friends instead - his friends, who he _remembered_ now.

"The psychic guy who cast it," Margo said, frowning. "I guess he was a hired gun, so to speak. When he saw the tide had turned against Owen, he lifted the curse and got the hell out of dodge."

"He's gone?" Eliot said. "Shouldn't someone find him, whoever he was? He could be dangerous - "

"I'm pretty sure that's what Kady's yelling about with Marina," Margo said, waving a dismissive hand. "Honestly, I say we let the others worry about all of this Hedge bullshit. I want to go _home_."

So did Eliot, actually. In the same way that he hadn't missed Julia, he hadn't missed Fillory, because he hadn't fully remembered it. But now he _could_, and he thought fondly of Whitespire, of his and Quentin's decadent chambers, their giant, soft bed, world-class cuisine provided on trays on lazy mornings when they didn't feel like getting dressed -

"How's Quentin?" Fen asked, breaking through Eliot's dreamy fantasy.

"Good," Eliot said. He looked over and saw Q and Julia still wrapped up in their hug. Alice had come over to join them. "He's good."

"And _you're_ good?" Fen asked again. She was raising an eyebrow at Eliot, and he remembered their conversation at Marina's hide-out, his doubts and fears confessed to a willing ear. He felt a small fissure of shame dart through him, and his stomach twisted. He and Quentin _were_ okay, but that didn't change the fact that he'd fucked up.

"I'm good. We're good. Thanks, Fen." He gave her a smile, and pointedly ignored Margo's raised eyebrow of inquiry, suddenly remembering something. "Hey, where'd you leave your eye?"

"In Fillory, remember? To keep watch. If I had remembered, I could have been checking in on them all this time."

"Ugh," Josh groaned. "I've just realized all our shit _is_ at the apartment. We put a glamour on a desk drawer to keep our phones and stuff hidden, remember?"

"Oh shit, that's right," Margo said, laughing. "Fuck, we were right there. We all could have learned our own last names at least."

Eliot's interest in the conversation was slipping - he felt a tugging in his gut pulling him back to Q, and so he let Margo, Josh, and Fen renew their embraces while he went to get his husband. Extricating Quentin from Julia's hug was easy enough, since Julia had dropped one of her arms to squeeze Alice's hand, even while holding Quentin with the other arm. He gave both of the women long hugs, lingering especially on Alice. He'd been perfectly polite to Alice, even while he hadn't remembered her, but even so... jealousy wasn't a good look on him, no matter the excuse.

Eliot pulled Quentin away and off to the side, out of earshot of the rest of the gang. "I love you so, so, much, Q," Eliot said, pulling him forward into his arms again. "In case that wasn't clear."

Quentin laughed into his collarbone, but the sound was a little mournful. "I'd say it's clear. Even though you tried to hand me over to Alice and her unborn child like a hetero-husband sacrificial offering."

Eliot squeezed him tighter, and then released him just enough to make eye-contact with him. The expression in Quentin's eyes wasn't angry, exactly, but maybe a bit wary, unsure. That was unacceptable, and Eliot rushed to explain.

"That's not what I was doing," Eliot said, truthful. "It wasn't that Alice was a woman, I swear. I was just - " he sighed, searching for words. "Even when I couldn't remember anything about myself, I guess some of the self-loathing made its way through the memory curse."

"El..." Quentin said, his eyebrows scrunched together. He smoothed a hand down Eliot's face, full of affection.

"At first, I knew nothing about you but that I wanted you. And then the entire time we were waiting around, and then fighting for our lives, I saw you. I saw how brave and generous you were, how kind and funny and smart, and _beautiful_ \- I... Quentin, it seemed inconceivable to me that I'd actually done something good enough with my life to deserve someone like you."

Quentin shook his head, dislodging a couple of tears. "And there I was thinking how unattainable you were. That I was probably deluding myself, hoping the connection I felt with you was reciprocated."

"You know, I heard somewhere that nobody ever thinks they're good enough for the person they love, because nobody ever _could_ be. There's nobody in the world that will ever be worthy of you, Quentin. Certainly not me."

"That's how I feel too, about you," Quentin said. "But El... worthy isn't the point."

"Yeah, I know that. I'm sorry I forgot it. And I'm sorry you always have to be the brave one, Q."

Quentin smiled at him, his eyes watery but his expression wry. "As far as I recall, you were brave enough to take me into a room in Marina's safe-house and have your way with me."

"Oh no, Quentin," Eliot said. "_My way_ would have taken considerably longer, and involved far less sleeping. _My way _would have been to lay you out on a nice comfy bed and fuck you for hours. But before I got to that part, I'd wring all of those perfect little sounds out of your mouth, drive you to the edge with my hands and my tongue and my hands again, until you - "

Quentin clapped a hand over Eliot's mouth. He was laughing, but his eyes had gone bright, and even in the dim light, Eliot could tell he was blushing. "Jesus, El, we're in public."

"You didn't seem to mind being in public when you were grinding against me on the couch in Kady's apartment," Eliot said, when Q removed his hand.

"You're incorrigible."

"And you _love_ me," Eliot said, grinning widely and leaning in to kiss him. They were both smiling almost too wide for the kiss, but they made it work.

Eliot pulled back, looking down at Quentin and letting his smile soften into something fond and loving. He willed Quentin to read everything he felt for him in his expression. "You love me," he repeated, softer. "I know that. I really do. No more of this insecure crap for us. You marriedme_,_ Quentin, there's no getting out of it now."

Quentin looked at him. Just looked at him, like he was the luckiest person in the world. And Eliot let himself trust in that love, as he bent his head to kiss his husband again.

"Take me home," Quentin said against his lips. "And _have your way with me_." Eliot could forget the rest of the world, for all he cared. He had everything he needed right here.


End file.
